The Flame to Light the Way
by Footprints In The Snow
Summary: Legolas had pushed himself far past his body's endurance, but the pain was still not enough of a distraction against the agony in his heart. Everything had built up within him, threatening to shatter him from the inside out. How could one person possibly handle so much? - Young Legolas. A story of hope and tragedy. Sequel to 'To Save a Prince' and 'In the Darkest Corners.'
1. Chapter 1

_Everything had built up within him, threatening to shatter him from the inside out. How could one person possibly handle so much? His thoughts and emotions had been swarming so violently within him that he could hardly contain them._

 _He stopped counting the number of arrows he'd released into the overburdened target at the end of the field long ago. He came to the conclusion that it no longer really mattered, anyway. After all, no amount of arrows could ever reach far enough to stop the pain._

 _He didn't want to feel anymore. Why couldn't it just stop?_

* * *

A small huff of air blew long blond strands away from a young, exasperated elven face. Dark blue eyes rolled with impatience, not resting on the source of his irritation. Having to listen to the dull tones of his tutor explaining the military structure of the Elvenking's Royal Army was the last activity he wanted to be doing. He let his eyes roam around the chamber, not resting on anything in particular and certainly not sacrificing any attention to his tutor.

Legolas hid a massive yawn behind one hand, rubbing at his eyes and resting his chin in his other. It had been more of the same thing each day of the week; it wasn't as if he would ever learn anything useful. Slender fingers tapped a peeved rhythm on the smooth wood beside the open text in front of him while the elfling tried to imagine himself anywhere else other than the quiet chamber he currently occupied. Instead of memorizing rules and regulations, Legolas craved the freedom of delicately-crafted wood and carefully-maintained fletching. He craved an adventure.

"Legolas, can you tell me what the 'Rule of Four' is?"

Halioth, Legolas' tutor, positioned himself in front of the adolescent elf's downcast eyes and tapped his foot while waiting for an answer.

Why should Legolas answer? He wasn't _allowed_ to participate in warrior training this season, so why should he be bothered to learn about the military structure of an army he wasn't permitted to be part of?

' _It isn't fair!'_ He thought, frowning and pulling his eyebrows together in frustration. Legolas looked up at his tutor, narrowing his eyes and pouting slightly. He felt like being willfully obstinate, whether he knew better or not. If no one would treat him like an adult, then why bother presenting himself as one? It would do no good in the current situation.

"Prince Legolas, I trust you are paying attention to this information?"

Halioth focused his disapproving gaze at the wound-up adolescent prince. The elder could tell his student was no longer focused on the task at hand, assuming he had ever been at all. Judging by the huffs, glares, and all-around lack of eye contact, Legolas hadn't been invested in the lesson since the moment he trudged into the chamber.

It was obvious that Halioth barely had the prince's attention from the very start of the lesson, let alone this far into it. He wasn't blind, he could see the gloominess that radiated from his young charge. It filled the room, it was so potent.

Even the subtle pout of the young elf's mouth added to an image of a child who simply _did not_ wish to be there. Halioth was no fool. His charge was avoiding the chance to learn. It was just as well, for he could not teach a child who didn't want to learn, no matter what the lesson was.

"The 'Rule of Four' applies to the number of warriors in each group," Legolas began in as uninterested a voice as he could muster, straining to remember the names of each group. "There are four warriors to a Squad, four squads to a Band, four bands… um, four—"

"Four bands to a Guard, four guards to a Company, and four companies to a Host. We've been over this twice, my lord. I'm afraid you're too distracted to retain this information. _Valar_ forbid I ask you what rank leads each of these groups."

Legolas sighed, his slender shoulders slumping in defeat. He didn't want to learn this information from a tutor. He wanted to be _part_ of a squad. He would surely know it, then. And someday, he'd want to be a commander in charge of an entire company of elves, like his brothers Thallion and Faervere. It just wasn't fair that he had to sit back while everyone else got to protect the kingdom.

His father, the Elvenking Thranduil, had been holding him back, hoping to spare the adolescent from having to grow up too quickly. His three older brothers were all warriors of Mirkwood, risking their lives each day to keep the kingdom safe. For _Valar's_ sake, Calaeron was now lord commander of the largest remaining host in Mirkwood! And all he could do was sit with a tutor. Like _that_ was going to help the kingdom.

 _Not. Fair._

It seemed that every elf in the kingdom had been allowed to train, and Legolas was sat here, learning their names and dreaming of one day being just like them. While the remaining elflings in Mirkwood had begun warrior training, Legolas was confined indoors to books and scrolls and tutors.

Even his best friends were now in training. Just that morning, his friends Alarcien and Mitsion were thrilled to be headed to their lesson for the day. The two would be finishing their first week of archery training—the first phase of warrior training for every Mirkwood elf—and Legolas had been glum the entire time. They were barely half a century older than him, and yet they were free to do as they wished.

He was 42, why couldn't his _Ada_ let him train with his friends? It wasn't like there would be any more opportunities for Legolas to train with elves close to his own age, as he was the youngest elf in Mirkwood. The sickness strangling the forest around them had finally seeped into the palace walls, and no elf was comfortable bringing an elfling into such darkness. His own existence had been a miracle, why tempt fate twice?

The only elves who would be training after his age-mates would be those elves who weren't quite your average warrior: cooks, tailors, stable hands and the like. And then there was him. He would be right beside them, feeling like a fool.

"Prince Legolas, I believe our lesson is over today. We'll try again tomorrow when you are better able to focus on your studies."

Legolas wasted no time gathering his materials, loading them into his small bag while keeping his head down. Despite not wanting to participate in the lesson, he did feel bad. He had wasted Halioth's time, after all. Perhaps the tutor would understand?

The young elfling lifted his bag onto one bony shoulder and slowly dragged himself out of the chamber, not thrilled in the least to have more unoccupied sulking time. Halioth merely stared after the young elf, his light blue eyes softening.

' _Oh, to be young and misunderstood,'_ Halioth laughed quietly to himself as he cleaned up the remaining scrolls from the table and extinguished the few candles and lanterns that lit up the small room.

Someday, the prince would realize that he wasn't simply being held back to spite him. He was being protected in the only way the Elvenking knew how. Legolas was the last elfling in the kingdom, was it so wrong to want to keep him innocent for a little while longer? Halioth would never begrudge the king for doing what was necessary to protect his youngest child, for Halioth would do the very same thing were he faced with the same decision.

Legolas trudged down the hall, feeling like nothing more than a defeated child. Now that the lesson was finished, he almost wished he were still with the tutor. He had nothing to do once his afternoon session with Halioth was over. He couldn't go onto the palace grounds and run with his friends. He couldn't try his hand at archery and train for the annual summer competition, listening to his name being chanted by more than a hundred excited elves.

Legolas wouldn't get to see the look on his _Ada's_ face as he sunk yet another arrow into a target, or his _Naneth's_ proud smile as his scores were released. He couldn't compare his tallies to Calaeron's records, or laugh at the indignant look on Faervere's face—Faervere hated archery. Legolas wouldn't be able to ask for pointers from Thallion or take advice from the older archers.

None of it would be his experience.

He dragged his feet and sighed as he walked down the hall. All he could focus on was what he wasn't allowed to do.

He remembered a time when he was younger, when he could run through these halls without a single care. Except for his bout with the spiders, that is. But even then, his heart warmed at the love his older brothers had showed him when they helped him overcome what was his biggest fear as a youngling.

These halls held a lot of wonderful memories. They had obviously seen more than one moody elfling in their time, but Legolas had never felt so lost in his entire life. There was no one around to guide him through his turmoil. No one else understood what it felt like to be the _last_ of anything.

"Legolas!"

Looking up, the prince spotted his two older friends arriving from the archery fields. Their breaths were coming in fatigued huffs and their flushed skin was covered in sweat and dirt, except for the small patches on their arms where their arm-guards protected them. Alarcien and Mitsion had the happily-exhausted look that came with a hard lesson. They were excited to be tired, enjoying the soreness of their muscles and the grime that coated their young bodies.

Already, he could see a change in them. Mitsion seemed to have grown an inch, his youthful face thinning and losing a little of its roundness left over from childhood. The boy had always had an endless amount of energy, but he was already learning better ways to channel it. Legolas could tell by the calmer set of his shoulders and the way the other boy's hands didn't nearly vibrate with built up energy.

Alarcien exuded confidence that was rare for the _elleth._ She stood straighter, walking with a bounce in her step that definitely hadn't been there earlier that week. Her blond hair had fallen out of the single plait Legolas had helped her with early that morning, and the prince noticed a feather had been caught somewhere in the end of her tangled hair. But despite that, he could see that she was finding a better way to belong somewhere.

They had both matured in ways only camaraderie could provide. He would never know what it was like to be part of something bigger than himself. To rely on another elf with absolute trust, knowing that they were by your side through it all.

He had no clue what it felt like to be so exhausted and so full of life at the same time.

The most labor-filled thing Legolas had done all day was the restless tapping of his fingers earlier, while his two friends looked as though they'd grown years ahead of him and he felt he would never be able to catch up.

"Today's lesson was amazing!" Mitsion shouted, using his hands to describe just _how_ exciting and exhilarating the day really was for him. "We learned how to use the fletching so we can—"

Alarcien roughly elbowed Mitsion, who hadn't noticed how unhappy Legolas looked at having to listen to their jubilation. The expression on his face was almost like a shutter, closing them out and protecting himself from his loneliness. Alarcien could see the discouraged frown that fought its way through the impassive face Legolas was trying so hard to wear. The prince was attempting to hide his disinterest, but he failed to be convincing enough to fool his best friends.

The _elleth's_ face softened. She knew what it was like to be left out, to be the last one picked for a game or to just be completely overlooked. Maybe she wasn't in the same family as Legolas, or didn't have the same pressures he did. Maybe she had no idea what being a royal felt like, but being a girl meant she wasn't taken as seriously as others. Though it was frowned upon, young elves saw girls in a different light. They were weaker, frailer, or simply needed more protection. That didn't really change until she made it into the training class, where everyone equally lacked experience and no one was ahead of anyone else.

"What if we went onto the field now that everyone has cleared?"

Both Legolas and Mitsion stared at her as though they had no idea who she was. Was she crazy? They couldn't go out unsupervised!

"I don't know…"

Legolas didn't dare to hope that his friend was serious about her offer. After all, she would be risking a lot for him if she was caught. But maybe that was what made it all the more exciting. The thought that he would be doing exactly what his _Ada_ didn't want him to be doing seemed an absolutely thrilling idea.

' _How could he ever find out?'_ Legolas contemplated the offer. ' _He's always too busy, he really won't know.'_

Alarcien looked at Mitsion, silently conveying their need to help their younger friend. Legolas had been there for both of them multiple times over the years, so it was time for them to return the favor. And it wasn't as if they could really get into much trouble when they were with the youngest prince, could they?

Alarcien's light grey eyes pleaded with Mitsion's darker ones. It was almost their duty as Legolas' friends to support him and take his mind off his problems. If he couldn't be part of their training group, then the least they could do was to pass on as much knowledge as they could. After all, he would have a lot of catching up to do once the Elvenking finally allowed him to train.

"Yeah, let's go now," Mitsion carefully suggested. He supposed it wouldn't hurt if they went after hours. "No one should be there now that the training class is over."

* * *

 ** _-This story will be a pretty long one, but it is finished and I will update on a regular basis. It's a continuation of my previous LOTR stories, but it should still make sense without them. There will be seven chapters in total, so look for my updates in the coming week. I should be posting a chapter per day! Don't hesitate to leave me a review, I am always open to your opinion! It definitely lets me know if I'm traveling in the right direction._**

 ** _Thanks!_**

 ** _-FiTS_**


	2. Chapter 2

The training grounds were so void of sound that naught but a gentle breeze was all that dared penetrate the silence. One could hear their own heartbeat if they listened closely enough. It was as though all sound—all of creation—paused for this one moment in time. The trees cautiously whispered to each other, astonished by what they had just witnessed. Never before had they beheld such an occurrence, and they were lucky to have been able to observe it.

Shock, awe, and pride flowed through the air surrounding three young adolescent elflings, who before had only been intent on mischief and fun. Though now, they were simply stunned by what they saw. However, none were quite as surprised as the young blond elf who stood across from a target that was now graced with an impossibly perfect bulls-eye. His mouth hung open, dark-blue eyes staring at the sight he wasn't quite sure he could believe. He'd just fired a perfect shot.

Legolas had never fired a bow before.

"How?"

Alarcien couldn't wrap her brain around what her eyes were showing her. She had just taught Legolas how to hold the bow, how to nock the arrow and where to look in order to sight his target. The _elleth_ had held her small hands over his, guiding him into his stance with the clumsiness of an elf who herself had barely any experience. She'd hardly even _hit_ the target on her own in training, yet he'd sunk an arrow into the center as easily as if he'd been using a bow his entire life. It was as though he was born to be an archer.

"He _has_ to let you train now!" Mitsion shouted, tugging on the sleeve of Legolas' tunic as he jumped up and down. Legolas lowered the bow and looked into his friend's overjoyed face, Mitsion's eyes opened wide in an almost stunned look. "There's no way you'll be left out!"

' _I hope he's right.'_

Watching that arrow— _his_ arrow—meet the target had been the most exhilarating thing Legolas had ever done. His heart still pounded in his chest and his hands ached with the strain of firing just one arrow. The effort it took to draw the bow was almost rewarding in itself, and the young elf couldn't imagine the strength and endurance it would take to continuously draw and release the bow.

' _This is amazing!_ Ada _must let me join them now.'_

He suddenly understood why Alarcien and Mitsion had been so happy to be so tired earlier. It was a lovely, rewarding feeling to have physical proof of your own success. The adrenaline racing through his small body was enough to make him want more of the same.

Legolas was so thoroughly caught up in the moment, his entire being was focused only on what was happening directly in front of him.

Caranel, a warrior captain of Mirkwood, lurked on the edge of the training grounds, far away from Legolas' attention. Her light hazel eyes were wide and she fought to shake herself out of the magical moment she couldn't help but to be drawn into.

She was on her way to speak to her commander—she really needed to get a move on, too—when she caught sight of Legolas' unbelievable shot.

"Amazing," she whispered, just as caught up in the moment as the forest around her. She couldn't wait to tell her commander _exactly_ what she'd witnessed, for she herself could hardly believe it. The young prince was exceptionally skilled, she had to admit that his accuracy with a bow far outweighed her own. How long must he have been training to be so proficient?

The bewitched _elleth_ tucked a strand of thick, wild auburn hair behind her ear as she unsuccessfully smoothed out the wrinkles in her mussed-up tunic and jogged back to the palace at the same time, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She was late, obviously, but she couldn't help it. Caranel had gotten engrossed in the enchantment of the moment on the training grounds and was now scrambling to finish her prior task, all while hoping her commander wasn't angry at her tardiness.

She'd merely been passing by the grounds on her way back to her guard post and wouldn't have seen the young prince's shot at all if she hadn't noticed how still the entire forest had been at that time. These days, it was difficult to get the trees to pay attention to much of anything, other than the purely mundane. To have their undivided attention on anything of interest _at all_ was a rare happening indeed.

Her commander had requested the new recruits' evaluations over an hour ago. She knew she was more than late on getting them turned in. It was lucky he was a very understanding commander, or she'd be in more trouble than she would care to know. As it was, she'd be fortunate if he didn't assign her more work to make up for it.

"Caranel, you _still_ haven't turned those in?"

Apseniel, an _ellon_ who was a chief in the same patrol company as she, jogged to catch up to her. They had been in the same novice class as young elflings and had since developed an interesting, but incredibly close, friendship over the years. They were always competing with each other, trying to one-up the other at every turn. It was mostly good-natured, although a vicious bet wasn't unlikely to be made at least once every couple of months. When they were both made chiefs, they seemed to compete even more. Even when Caranel was promoted to high captain, she and Apseniel had it out for each other.

It was a rare day when one wasn't making smaller bets against the other over something. But they did it more out of a sense of love and companionship than anything else. One was rarely seen without the other by their side and they supported each other in everything they did.

"You know he was looking for you, right?"

The _elleth_ shook her head, ignoring the bewildered look on her comrade's narrow face. She probably looked a fright, she just knew it. No matter what she did, Caranel felt she was always just slightly out of place. Her hair was always a mess, her tunic never straight, she talked too quickly. It was always something. Caranel knew she lacked the grace she was supposed to have been born with.

"I know I'm late, but I'm sure he'll understand once I tell him why."

"You better hope he doesn't regret picking you as his second," Apseniel teased her, ducking the slap to the head she aimed toward him with her one free hand. "He should have picked me, I'm much better looking!"

Caranel snorted, reigning in her laughter as she reached the large wooden door to the study where she knew her commander would be. They'd returned to the palace four days ago, and he'd spent at least three of them sequestered behind these same oaken doors. He had barely taken a moment to eat, let alone to rest.

Their numbers were seriously depleted after their last patrol; they'd lost six good warriors to the darkness of the forest. The patrol itself should have been very average, but nothing about the forest was average anymore. Only one guard had been deployed to the forest, as the entire company hadn't been required for the task. Their small force should have been just fine. But they were unlucky enough to stumble straight into a large band of orcs that had suddenly decided to change direction and caught them unaware.

It still brought a deep sense of shame and loss to think about their fallen. One of them had been part of the guard under Caranel's charge. His loss burned a deep hole in the pit of her stomach.

They very nearly lost their commander this time, too. In trying to save two of his elves, Thallion received a very mangled leg and massive blood loss in return. It had been a struggle to get him back to the palace alive. He had lost so much blood that they didn't think he would survive the journey home.

His officers had to make the tough decision of whether or not they should continue to the palace even after their commander had lost consciousness. They would have moved quicker if they had left him with a few elves to protect him and then returned for him once the majority of the small guard made it back to the palace. But the risk was too high, and they knew it. He would have died in the forest had they chosen to leave him behind.

Caranel was adamant about bringing her commander back, not once allowing the older officers to bully her into agreeing with their idea.

In the end, they'd powered through their trip and made it home, trying to hide his condition from the rest of the company until they arrived. It would not have been beneficial for his warriors to know how close they had come to losing their commander.

As soon as he regained consciousness in the palace, Thallion secluded himself in his study. No matter how many of his warriors—as well as his loved ones—tried, they couldn't convince the stubborn elf to take a break until he figured out a way to replenish their numbers and prevent the loss of more young elves. Nothing wounded him more than the death of one of his own and he would be hard-pressed to give up until he came up with a solution.

Caranel tried one last time to make herself more presentable as she tightened her grip on the papers and took a steadying breath. Her heart shot into her throat and she forced down her nerves. She could do this, she knew it.

The _elleth_ rapped her willowy knuckles against the smooth wood of the door and waited for the low "come in" before opening it and stepping inside. Thallion's desk was already strewn with neat piles of scrolls and maps and all manner of things, adding more evidence to her suspicions that he hadn't truly left the room in days. The cool air and warm light washed over her pale features, but she didn't let it distract her from her task. Caranel had enough of distractions for the day.

She barely let herself take another breath before starting in on her explanation, not seeing the amused surprise registering on her commander's face the second he'd looked up from his desk. Her words poured from her mouth without hesitation, like water gushing from a cup, almost tripping over herself with her haste.

"Sir, I know I'm so, so late with these and I promise I can explain myself. I'm sorry, I tried to—"

"Caranel, it's all right."

Prince Thallion heaved his stiff body from the desk he'd spent days stuck behind, stretching his aching limbs in an effort to shake the lethargy from them and wincing as the movements pulled at his less-than-healed wounds. The longer he sat behind that desk, the more ancient he felt.

He had never been able to handle having to sit still very well. Thallion was an action-oriented elf. He'd take weeks in the forest over endless hours doing paperwork, but it needed to be done for the sake of his warriors. He would do all he could for them and more.

"And how many times must I ask you not to call me sir?"

His gray eyes rested on his disheveled second-in-command and youngest captain, one corner of his mouth raising slightly in amusement at the sight of Caranel's long red hair flying in all directions. She always did telegraph her emotions with her appearance. It only took one look at her to see just how her day was going, especially when her hair refused to stay put the way it was doing now.

Despite this, he was proud to have made her a chief. Her determination and grace under pressure—at least on the battlefield—was something to be admired. Caranel had fought long and hard to earn the respect and loyalty of her fellow elves, she still had to fight for it every day. She deserved the chance to lead a guard of warriors, even at her very young age. No other elf had ever been promoted to a position of leadership so early in their career. She was the youngest high captain the kingdom had seen in over an age.

"What did you do, run here?"

She finally seemed to shake herself from whatever thought had taken residence in her head and she blushed vibrantly at her commander, embarrassed that she'd frozen up for so long. He must think her a fool, the way she still flushed like a youngling.

"No, si—Thallion, I was just trying to hurry back."

The elder warrior reached for the papers Caranel still held tightly in her slender arms, prying them from her grip and focusing on the words printed on them while he shook his head slightly at her instant correction.

He could have sat back down at the desk, but decided the chance to stretch his legs was more appealing, despite the pain in his wounded left leg. At this point, he would do anything to leave the stale air of the small study behind, if even for a few minutes.

"Walk with me, you can tell me why you're so…frazzled."

His first few steps were unsteady at best and he winced as pain radiated from his leg. He'd been immobile for too long and was now regretting it fully. Thallion wasn't quite sure his leg was even going to hold his weight, but he would never admit that out loud.

"Should you be walking on that?" The responding raise of one ebony eyebrow gave her all the answer she needed. "Of course, Commander. Lead the way."

She compulsively attempted to smooth down her hair as she matched the long, uneven stride of the dark-haired prince. Caranel studied him as discreetly as she could. He looked exhausted, as though he hadn't slept in days—which he probably hadn't. Caranel doubted he'd even grabbed a bite to eat all day, although most Mirkwood elves looked far too thin as of late. After being under Thallion's command for as long as she had, she shouldn't have been surprised by his dedication to his warriors.

He would do anything for them, including sacrifice his own comfort and well-being. He was always the last to rest, the last to eat, and the last to receive medical attention—at least when he had anything to say about it.

Thallion began looking through the now-crinkled evaluations while still keeping a watch on where he was going, elegantly multi-tasking as though reading and walking at the same time were a daily task. _'He makes_ everything _look easy.'_ She knew she would never compare to the ease with which her commander conducted himself. It had taken him hundreds of years of training to get where he was, and it was her fear that the shadow wouldn't give her that much time. She would be lucky if she got a decade, if present records had anything to say about it.

"So…" he began, narrowing his eyes at the information on the evaluation in his large hand. "You were about to explain what got you so flustered today and caused you to make such a mad dash back here?"

"Oh," she nervously laughed, though she sensed no malice in his tone. In fact, there was more weariness in his voice than anything else. It had been a long few months for everyone, more for the royal family than any other. While Thallion disliked being regarded as a prince, despite being adopted into the royal family and being formally bestowed with the title so long ago, he still held a higher position than the average warrior—royalty or not. And with that came the extra stress of knowing far too much about their current situation, as well as an added responsibility to an entire kingdom of elves in addition to a combined total of nearly three hundred warriors under his charge.

"It's just that—well, I didn't know the prince had been training. I was just a little shocked, is all. I stopped to watch him and his friends on the field, and it was more enchanting than I had anticipated. It took me a moment to pull myself away. He's rather impressive, sir."

Thallion's unsteady gait stumbled to a halt, his entire attention now focused squarely on her, his dark eyebrows raising nearly to his hairline. He studied every subtle shift in her expression, looking for any sign that she had either been mistaken in her observations or was making a strange joke. He wanted to be absolutely sure.

"Who do you mean?"

The _elleth's_ heart pounded with nerves, now unsure whether she was supposed to know what she had stumbled upon or not. What if the royal family wanted to keep Legolas' training a secret and Caranel had exposed it? She didn't want to lose the trust she'd fought so hard for. She should have walked away earlier, but that shot was too amazing to ignore.

"Legolas, sir. I saw him fire a perfect shot on the grounds earlier. More clean and precise than any I've ever seen before—not even the crown prince could fire such a shot! If you'll pardon the disrespect. It was… the most extraordinary thing I've ever witnessed."

The expression on Thallion's face was now unreadable. She could discern nothing from him at all. He simply looked down at the troop evaluation again, absorbing information and seemingly ignoring what she said. His entire face was closed off and Caranel couldn't tell whether he was just glancing over the material, or processing her words. She opened her mouth, but thought against speaking. It was best to allow her revelation to sink in. She had the sinking feeling that perhaps he didn't know that Legolas was training.

Not uttering a single word, Thallion turned and limped down the hall without another glance at Caranel. She stood there, her heart in her throat, and wondered what had just happened.

" _Ai,_ what have I done?"

* * *

"But how did you do it? You _must_ have been training privately, there's no other way!"

Mitsion made another pass in front of Legolas, the shock and awe burning through his veins and pouring from his small body in waves as he continued to pace before him. He and Alarcien were still reeling from their friend's perfect shot, completely unsure of what to believe. Once they'd managed to pry the bow from Legolas' frozen hands, they made their way back to the palace in absolute silence. At least, until Mitsion could no longer contain his curiosity and it burst from his body in an explosion of questions.

"Please, Mit, I've already told you that my _Ada_ won't let me train. I swear, I've never used a bow before. That was my first time."

"Yes, but what about your brothers?" Mitsion grabbed Legolas around the elbow, stopping his stride and staring pointedly at him while awaiting an answer. He couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy at his younger friend. "Surely one of them must have shown you?"

"Calaeron is too busy with his new duties to bother training me," the young prince began. He didn't want to have to explain himself to Mitsion if it was obvious that the other elf would never believe him. "Faervere _hates_ archery, he'd much rather train me with the sword than to ever bother showing me how to use a bow. And Thallion only just got back a few days ago, he would never have the time. Especially not since he was wounded, I've hardly seen him as it is."

"But _he_ would train you, no doubt," Mitsion questioned, crossing his arms and squaring his stance. "I mean, he does think you're ready, doesn't he?"

"He's probably the only one," Legolas sighed. It seemed that no one had time for him these days, though he knew he shouldn't blame them. They were all busy trying to find a way to protect the kingdom and ensure the safety of their people. All except for him, that is.

The shadow choking the forest had grown so thick that it was now tremendously perilous to leave the safety of the realm. Not even the surrounding forest was safe to the woodland elves. Orcs now patrolled so close to the palace that the elves within could smell their horrid stench.

Spiders had grown so large that taking down a nest was an impossibility that few elves were willing to attempt. Meeting a spider in the dangerous darkness of the forest was now almost always a death sentence. Thallion and Legolas had been lucky all those years ago, for they would never have survived if they had been caught in the open by a spider now.

Calaeron, Thallion, and Faervere still ran regular patrols and acted as the exterior safeguard for all of Mirkwood, but they were now forced to remain closer to the palace for theirs and their warriors' safety. They ran fewer, shorter patrols than ever before. The boundaries of King Thranduil's land were constricting, and there didn't seem to be much that could be done to stop it. The entire kingdom was shrinking.

When they left for their patrols, injury was now a regular occurrence and death was usually a guarantee, as they unfortunately found out just days ago when Thallion's patrol returned.

Just the memory of his return caused the hair on Legolas' arm to stand up, a wary shiver racing up his spine. The sight of the dark-haired elf's broad figure slumped over his horse's back as though he were already dead remained burned in Legolas' mind for the last several days. After all, the elfling had been walking through the courtyard when they heard the desperate shouts of Thallion's warriors as they returned from the forest.

Faervere had appeared seemingly from nowhere and escorted the youngest prince away from the courtyard and for a moment, Legolas hadn't known if his brother was alive or dead. The raven-haired commander was covered in bright red blood and paler than anyone had seen him in years. No one would tell him anything for the longest time.

But at least Thallion's battered patrol hadn't gone south.

The south, where Legolas and Thallion were attacked so many years ago, was now a no-enter zone. The east and west were scarcely any safer.

And yet, Legolas remained in the palace, confined to scrolls and lessons, while his best friends would soon join the ranks of the doomed.

It wasn't fair.

The three young elflings traveled down one of the outer hallways of the palace and turned a corner, not expecting the dark-haired commander, with whom Legolas' thoughts had been drawn, to be standing there waiting for him. Somehow, Thallion always knew _exactly_ where Legolas would be.

"Um, we'll see you later."

"Yeah, bye Legolas."

Alarcien and Mitsion strode off, leaving the two brothers to stare at each other before the younger of the two looked away in shame. His cheeks burned and he wondered if somehow, Thallion already knew what he had done. _'Of course he did… he was Thallion.'_

Legolas was suddenly very interested in a scuff on one of his booted feet, unsure what he would find in his older brother's piercing gaze and rather keen on never finding out. Legolas normally had the ability to read Thallion better than most elves, as the elder prince usually let his guard down when he was around the elfling. But this time was different. He truly could not read Thallion's emotions and that made it ten times worse.

"Legolas, _Penneth,_ look at me."

The young elf finally looked into Thallion's gray depths and flinched at what he saw there. Worry. A hint of pride. But most of all, there was disappointment and fear pooled in the bottomless gray gaze of his older brother.

"Caranel told me of your shot on the grounds earlier today. She seemed rather impressed. Was that your first time firing a bow?"

Legolas nodded mutely, again breaking eye contact and looking down at his feet. He should have known that messing around on the training grounds would get him in trouble. He only wished it hadn't been one of his brothers who would find out.

Thallion put a large, warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly as he continued. Legolas kept his head down, but reveled in the supportive hand on his shoulder.

"I know you're eager to begin training with your friends, Legolas. But you need to understand where _Adar_ is coming from and why he did not want you to join them. You are his youngest. In fact, this entire kingdom sees you as their own child. They want to feel like they can protect you for as long as possible. I can talk to _Adar_ for you, but even _I'm_ not sure you're ready."

"But Thall—"

Legolas stared at his brother, shocked by the unfairness of his words. Thallion was the only elf he knew who could chastise and encourage at the same time, both breaking one down and bolstering one's confidence simultaneously.

"No, Legolas. You may think you're ready, but there are many things you still need to learn. What if you had been seen by someone other than Caranel? By now, most of the kingdom knows _Ada_ doesn't want you training. What if they think he is lying to them? Where will the trust in their king go?"

The elfling's heart pounded in his chest, his mouth drying in fear while a cold sweat broke out on his palms. He looked back down, shame now burning at the back of his neck. No, he _hadn't_ thought of that. What would his _Ada_ think if he knew what Legolas had done? Sure, it had been exhilarating. But was one moment of fun worth his father's reputation?

"I understand how you feel, _Penneth._ Many now seem to forget that I was not always one of your people, though they certainly noticed when I was first brought here to the palace. My people, the Avari, were nomads who rarely stayed in one place. They almost never associated with the _Eldar_ and living among them wouldn't have ever crossed their minds _._ I may well be one of the last of my people on Middle Earth." A far-away look settled into Thallion's eyes. "It was a dark thing that happened to my family, something people weren't accustomed to as a common occurrence just yet. That kind of thing just didn't happen in those days of peace and prosperity. Once they learned of my loss, they forgot their prejudice and felt they were responsible for me, much the way they now feel about you. When I first started training, I thought I had a lot of things to prove to myself and to everyone else. _Adar_ and _Naneth_ had just given me a title I didn't want, and the other elves were looking at me differently," a second calloused hand gripped Legolas' other shoulder, forcing the elfling to look directly into his brother's warm face. Thallion's low, soft voice took on a harder edge.

"Calaeron, he asked that I be placed in his guard on my first patrol. I was so angry because I felt I didn't need his protection. I was angry and I lost all focus. We came upon a pretty large band of orcs and I figured I could handle myself and didn't even think to ask for help. I didn't see the warg behind me until Cal sunk an arrow into its skull and saved my life.

"I'd lost perspective in my attempt to prove myself. I was foolish and so sure that I knew _exactly_ what I was doing that I didn't see the potential consequences of my actions—or how those actions would affect others. Melehtanis was furious, he was ready to throw me out of his company after that hair-brained move and I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. I was lucky he changed his mind."

Legolas froze in awe, his dark-blue eyes widening in shock and his mouth dropping open.

"Wait, _the_ Melehtanis?"

Melehtanis was the kingdom's top sword instructor. His reputation alone was something many elflings talked about with reverence. He had taught every one of the commanders! Children had grown up hoping to one day have the honor of being taught by the elder warrior, often imagining they were him on the battlefield in his younger days. Faervere used to tell Legolas bedtime stories about the legendary warrior's victories in battle.

"Yes, before he became the kingdom's most renowned swordsman, he was a commander in the Royal Army. He taught me a great deal of lessons, but the most important thing he taught me was that I knew _nothing._

"Legolas, you have no idea what this is truly about. You don't know what it is to be ready for the life of a warrior; to watch your comrades die before your eyes. To endure the loss of those under your command. To wonder where the next strike will fall—nothing."

Legolas couldn't look away from the agonized look in his brother's gray eyes, or the fear written across his usually fearless face. It took a great deal for Thallion to be afraid, and it was almost always his family that brought that fear to the forefront.

"We'd like to spare you from that knowledge as long as we can, Legolas," he softly squeezed the elfling's shoulders once more, attempting to offer as much comfort and support as he could. "But I promise you, I understand. You see your brothers return from patrols, wounded more often than they aren't, and you want there to be some other way. You watch our numbers deplete faster than we can replenish them and you wish you could do something, anything, to stop it. You want to serve the kingdom that has provided you with love, comfort, and safety. I understand."

"I just want to help, Thall."

Legolas tried to stop the slight wobble in his voice, craving nothing more than absolute understanding from his brother. Thallion had always been a mentor to Legolas, and to have him know exactly how the elfling felt would be the most relieving thing to the impressionable youngling.

"I know, Legolas. You are a good soul, _tithen las,_ and I know it hurts you to watch your people suffer. I know. That is why I will talk to _Adar_ for you, but that is also why you should not expect him to grant your wish so soon. Be prepared for him to say no to this."

The only thing the young elf could do was nod, too stricken with emotion to say much of anything else. He felt hot tears prickle at his eyes, but the grip Thallion had on his shoulders prevented him from wiping at them. They slid down his face in hot streams.

The elder prince saw the sadness on his little brother's face and could take no more.

Thallion then pulled him into a strong hug, wrapping long arms around him and holding on tight. Legolas couldn't help but to burrow his face into his brother's shoulder, feeling safe and warm when the rest of the kingdom seemed cold and dangerous.

* * *

 **So much more to go! Let me know what you think, I love hearing from my readers!**

 **Thank you, as always!**

 **-FiTS**


	3. Chapter 3

A stiff draft slipped through fine cracks in the council chamber walls, sending chilling fingers up each elf's spine. It seemed as though there was a permanent chill in the air, freezing the blood and stilling one's breath. Not even the warmth of the fireplace could keep back the cold, no matter how often it was stoked.

They had gathered to address the same issue that was on their minds every minute of each day: the growing darkness. They had yet to reach a conclusion that the king was pleased with.

"I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do, my lord."

Galion, Thranduil's chief advisor, looked his old friend square in the face, taking in the weariness written there. This would be the council's fourth meeting in as many days, and the same solution was reached each time, no matter how hard the king tried to steer them away from it.

Greenwood the Great was all but finished, as Mirkwood had fully taken over. There were few elves in the kingdom who still referred to their home as Greenwood. They needed help, and fast, if they wanted to stop their kingdom from falling into shadow with nothing more than a feeble cry from its occupants.

"My lord, I think Galion is right," Faervere sighed, looking at his father and wishing he could give any other answer but the one the Elvenking clearly did not want to hear. He'd kept his eyes on his _Adar_ for most of the council session, reading every frown the lord tried to hide as the conversation barreled toward the same solution as before.

"We haven't been able to run a full patrol in months. Every time we try, we lose more elves to the forest. Thallion lost six on the last one alone and barely escaped the battle with his life, and that was a three-day patrol. Who's to say we won't lose more on the next?"

Faervere then shared a careful look with his older brother, hoping the elder prince wouldn't mind that he'd spoken for him. The subtle nod Thallion gave him told him enough to know that the elf didn't mind and readily agreed with him. After all, it was true. They _had_ lost far too many of their own in recent months. Thallion wasn't the only one to lose warriors under his charge and he definitely wasn't the only one who was tired of watching the light fade from another youngling's eyes.

Their "gift" of immortality was now a cruel joke.

"We need to reach out to _Imladris_ , lord," Elhael, Queen Lanthir's advisor, sat forward, gesturing with his hands as he spoke to the council as one. Some lowered their heads, worried at the bold statement the advisor had made. Over the four council sessions, none of them had directly suggested turning to Lord Elrond, though they had all sensed that was the direction the conversations were headed. "They are the only ones close enough and with a great enough force to send us aid. We simply cannot allow this to continue or we will have no elves left to defend this kingdom. We're out of options, _hir nin._ "

Thranduil kept his face impassive, warring with his own emotions and trying hard to make the right choice for his people. Yes, he knew they desperately needed help. But reaching out to Lord Elrond felt like giving up, and he wasn't much for losing control of his kingdom.

"We have no choice, _Adar_."

It was Thallion who spoke this time, using the one word he knew would always get his lord—his father—to do what he must. It was a low-blow, to be sure, but one the Raven-haired elf knew was necessary if he wanted his king to finally take action. They had been going through this for long enough. They couldn't afford to lose more elves, and Thallion really wasn't keen on losing more young warriors to that brutal darkness. Especially not now, with Legolas bucking for the chance to join his fellow elves in the forest.

" _Ai, Elbereth,_ I know," Thranduil sighed, letting a small piece of his weariness seep into his voice. "But I cannot leave the kingdom while it is in such turmoil, there's no way I can spare myself to get away. And much as I trust Calaeron to take responsibility of the realm while I'm gone, he has too full a plate as it is. I cannot bear to do that to him when he has so much to contend with."

The elf in question wasn't even present at this very council session, as he was planning another patrol to the east—where Thallion had just returned—to gauge the size and potential future threat of the orc pack they had unfortunately stumbled upon. They would depart at the end of the week, hopefully many days after the current situation had been resolved and a decision was made.

Lanthir sat forward, her long braid falling over her shoulder as she placed one warm hand over her weary husband's. She had remained by his side during this very tense, stressful time, offering what comfort and support she could. But even she knew she must take action in order to save the kingdom she loved so greatly. It wasn't just her sons who had a duty to their land.

"Send me."

Surprise filled the Elvenking's eyes and he stared at his wife, unsure if he'd heard her correctly. Their eyes locked and it seemed as though they communicated more in that moment than most could in a lifetime.

"I am aware of the dangers, my love, but I am the only one that makes sense. I have no obligations to duty at this time, we have no more trade coming into or out of the kingdom for me to handle. Allow me to travel to _Imladris_ and speak to Lord Elrond and his council myself. I can take a group of warriors with me for protection. I'm sure Faervere would be willing to bring along his troops, I believe we can spare him— _Valar_ knows he's itching to get out of the palace."

She shared a loving smile with her son, evoking a short, nervous laugh from him. She then fixed her dark-blue eyes on her husband. Judging by the mix of emotions playing out across a face she knew better than her own, Thranduil was displeased with the direction this meeting was going. He could feel the control slipping through his fingers with every second and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The Elvenking looked torn between knowing that this was the only option for the kingdom and being utterly terrified of the danger his wife and son would surely be in. He only felt like more of a failure of a king, not worthy of Oropher's crown, the more he thought of what this decision would mean. His realm had sunk into shadow under _Thranduil's_ reign, it was his responsibility to see it through to the light.

His queen was right, though he was loath to admit it. He was out of options.

"Let me think on this," Thranduil finally spoke, looking as though the words made him nauseous to even utter. "We shall convene tomorrow morning for a vote."

Nothing more was said, the group sensing the finality in their lord's words. Each one rose to exit the chambers, some hanging back to chat and others seemingly fleeing from the eerie chill of the room as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Lanthir laid her hand upon her husband's arm and gently drew him aside for a quiet discussion away from the lingering councilors and advisors. Neither seemed to even notice there were still other elves in the room, so absorbed in each other that none else mattered.

"He isn't happy about this," Faervere moved from his spot across the table to sit beside his older brother, striking up a conversation with the other elf. Thallion hadn't even rose to his feet yet, instead merely sinking back down into the comfort of his chair to observe the younger elf. It had been a long day, and the evidence of that was written across each of their faces. They were both drained in ways they hoped would not become frequent occurrences. "I don't think there's a single word _Naneth_ could say to him to make him feel better about it. Or me, for that matter."

The older warrior didn't like the tense, stressed-out expression on the normally merry countenance of his little brother. The dark and worried appearance was becoming far too common on a face where it definitely didn't belong. He missed the bright mischief that would often light up the prince's youthful face in their younger, more carefree days. Those days seemed to be more like distant dreams instead of true memories.

"No, I suspect this is the exact opposite outcome he was hoping for," Thallion sat forward, masking the momentary flash of pain that shot through his throbbing limb and looking down at his calloused hands, letting his shoulders droop ever so slightly. "To be honest, I'm not too thrilled about this either."

Faervere gazed down at his own hands and took in a sharp breath, reading the uneasy tone of his brother's voice and mistaking it for distrust. Perhaps Faervere wasn't a capable enough warrior to accomplish this task? Maybe he was foolish for thinking he could handle it, let alone in believing he could protect their _Naneth_ in the forsaken wood surrounding their realm. He would never measure up to the strength of the two eldest princes, who was he to believe he ever could?

Thallion must have caught onto Faervere's misunderstanding, for he leaned even closer to him and pitched his voice lower, softening his tone and speaking very gently to his brother.

"Hey, look at me."

The Avar laid a warm hand over Faervere's, dragging the younger elf's eyes upwards and into his open face. A face that had always seemed to calm him, no matter what war he was waging on the inside.

"I believe you can do this, 'Vere, but I'm worried. And honestly, I'm disappointed."

Before the younger elf could react again, Thallion continued.

"I'm disappointed in myself for getting wounded—I should know better by now. I can't change what happens in that forest any more than anyone else can. And because of that mistake, I have to stay here while you and _Naneth_ risk your lives."

"It isn't like you got yourself hurt on purpose."

"No," Thallion chuckled. "But I could have been more careful."

Faervere now laughed openly at his brother.

"Careful? You?"

The two brothers both broke out into low laughter, the older of the two reaching out to tug on one of the younger's braids, much as he had done when Faervere was an impish little elfling.

"Take a few of my warriors with you, 'Vere. They will serve you well."

Faervere took that as both a sign of his brother's worry as well as of his trust in the younger elf's abilities as a leader. Thallion was always looking out for him, a fact which never ceased to bring him comfort.

"Of course."

Thallion then observed their parents, still speaking in low tones on the other side of the room. Whatever it was the queen was saying, the Elvenking didn't seem pleased. He appeared more defeated than Thallion had seen him in years. No, he couldn't have been pleased at all.

"Why don't we see what kind of a group we can pull together for you and _Naneth_ to travel with."

Thallion made the painful move to stand, grabbing Faervere's attention as he seemed to struggle to make his damaged limb cooperate. "It is obvious what this decision will be, it's only a matter of time."

Faervere rose quickly, reaching out to help the older elf to stand on his leg, weaving an arm around his brother's waist and taking some of his weight. Though he would never admit it, it was obvious Thallion was in a great deal of pain. The stubborn elf never liked asking for help, although Faervere should have been used to it by now. Calaeron was the same way. And so was their _Adar_ , as they had been reminded in the last several days.

It took several slow, aching steps for Thallion to be able to move on his own. He did not say a word to Faervere, instead simply accepting the support until he no longer needed it. When he had finally found his bearings, Thallion gently tapped Faervere's shoulder to let him know to release him.

They took their time in heading over to Thallion's study. Halfway there, Faervere flagged one of the palace servants and asked the _elleth_ to send food up. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten and he didn't care to know how long Thallion had gone without.

It was warm in the study due to the blazing fire in the hearth, far warmer than the drafty halls. As they settled at Thallion's desk among piles of scrolls and maps, Faervere couldn't help but to remember all the times he and Legolas had dragged their brother away from "important things" to cause mischief in the palace at all hours of the day. It brought a fond smile to his face.

"What are you thinking about, _tithen muindor?_ I could use a little happiness this day."

Faervere was brought out of his reminiscing and gazed at Thallion, trying to picture the other elf when he had been happier. He could almost remember the flustered half-smile Thallion used to try, and fail, to hide every time Faervere did something the older elf thought was silly.

"Remember the spider hunt with Legolas?"

He hadn't meant to blurt out the words, though he wouldn't regret the spark of light that lit Thallion's gray eyes as the memory tickled at the Avar's mind.

" _Ai,_ 'Vere, and I seem to recall _Naneth_ discovering us on the other side of the palace, crawling on the floor."

Though the most memorable part of their little quest was the expression on Lanthir's face when she spotted not only her three youngest children crawling about, but her husband as well.

"He has had to grow up so quickly," Faervere sighed, his mind moving back to the youngest prince. It had to have been hard on Legolas to watch his realm struggle day by day. "It isn't like when you or I began our training. Darkness was a mere breath on the wind. But now, there isn't a single inch of land untouched by this evil. What I wouldn't give to see him so happy again."

Their conversation reminded Thallion of the surprise revelation made to him by Caranel. He had yet to speak to anyone else of what she had seen. He was hardly able to process it himself, much less share it with another. So much had transpired in a short amount of time and it felt like he had to scramble to keep up.

Although, he couldn't stop the warm burst of pride that settled within him at the thought of what his brother had done. Of course, it _had_ been foolhardy, but it was an innocent foolishness that had thankfully caused no harm. Thallion knew Legolas had a long way to go, but to hear of his natural talent and to personally witness the loyalty and honor that flowed through the elfling, so strongly that it was ready to burst from the child, gave him such hope for his brother's future—and that of his kingdom.

"Caranel told me of something earlier, but you must promise not to speak of it to anyone else. I haven't had a moment to speak to the king about it yet."

Faervere's eyes widened and he gave Thallion all of his attention, looking as though he were an elfling about to receive his bedtime story.

"Legolas fired a bow for the first time today…."

* * *

The gentle fire in the now-unattended hearth had finally gone out, no longer providing the darkened study with warmth. The only source of light came from a small lantern on the corner of the overburdened desk. Faervere had left Thallion's study more than an hour earlier, leaving only due to the promise that Thallion would be getting rest soon too.

However, the younger prince should have known that Thallion would stay. The raven-haired elf was just like his father in that way. He would not rest until all work was done.

Thallion felt his heavy eyelids drooping, the many pages sprawled in front of him kept blurring and swimming before his stinging eyes. His dark-haired head slowly tipped forward every couple of minutes before being caught by the half-aware elf. He should have left when Faervere had, because he was now not so sure he could make it to his bedchambers unassisted.

His head tilted forward once more, before a small creak coming from his study door caused him to bolt upright. A blond head then peeked into the room.

Calaeron.

"Ah, _Muindor,"_ it was an unspoken rule that Calaeron was always welcome in Thallion's study at any hour and without invitation, so long as Thallion was welcome in his under the same conditions. They both had the unhealthy habit of staying up too late with their worries and would often need someone to drag them away from their work. "Somehow, I knew I would find you falling asleep in here."

Thallion scrubbed his hands over his face, hoping to remove some of the sleepiness from his features. Although he knew he would never be able to hide from Calaeron, that would not stop him from trying.

The eldest prince fully entered the room, walking over to the chair Faervere had earlier occupied and sinking into it with a hearty sigh. He stretched his long legs before leaning forward and fixing Thallion with a concerned, 'Thranduil-esque' look.

"Yes, _Ada_ ," Thallion teased. "I know I should get some sleep. But perhaps I need to say the same for you."

Calaeron nodded, too tired to laugh at the younger elf's observation. While he had lucked out on what he heard had been a very stressful council session, he had spent the entire day speaking to all four of Thallion's captains and a few of his warriors. The orc patrol they had met days before was a large one that could not be allowed to roam the forest for long.

"If tomorrow morning's vote goes the way I suspect _Adar_ is dreading, I have a terrible feeling I may need to postpone my patrol. Did _Naneth_ truly volunteer to go to Lord Elrond herself?"

" _Ai,_ " Thallion wished he could have said no. "Her will is too strong to stop her from leaving. If she says she's going, her decision has already been made."

Calaeron shook his head, trying to picture his mother in that forest. She was a gentle woman, though she had once fought beside their father in battle long before he was crowned the Elvenking. It was still too hard for him to imagine her facing the same dangers they did each day.

On the other hand, all Thallion could think of was the fierce determination and fire in her eyes on that fateful day years ago when she lost Legolas on the path in the forest. The day Legolas found his first Great Spider.

 _"My Lady, it is too dangerous."_

 _Anger blazed in her eyes, wrathful and beautiful all at once, despite the firmness of Thallion's tone. She was a warrior when any of her children were threatened, but that would not help the situation._

"Naneth!"

 _He let the word hang in the air long enough for it to sink in and gain her attention. He didn't always address her in such a way, so it was enough to set her mind back into the here and now, right where he needed her._

 _"Please," he continued, now that he knew she would listen. "I cannot protect both of you from the dangers of this forest. Go for help,_ Naneth _. Calaeron is not far, he will send a patrol."_

 _Finally, Lanthir saw the logic in his reasoning and the pain in his dark gray eyes. Though she was afraid, she would trust him to save her child. As long as he could trust_ _her_ _to bring them aid._

 _"May the_ Valar _be with you,_ Penneth _," she whispered. "With both of you."_

"The _Valar_ will be with her, _Muindor,"_ Thallion assured his older brother, sensing the disquiet the blond prince was feeling and wanting to ease it in any way that he could.

A slight nod was all he received, the emotion still clearly coursing through Calaeron. He would be relieved once this whole dreaded thing was over and he could take a deep breath once again.

"I think we might both benefit from some rest, Thall."

Thallion grumbled, dropping his head onto his arms atop his desk and sending a stack of papers toppling. Calaeron could barely hear him through the curtain of dark hair surrounding his head and he fought to hide a smile at one of his brother's rare moments of playfulness.

"Are you sure I cannot sleep here?"

* * *

The next morning, a unanimous vote ruled that Queen Lanthir and Prince Faervere would travel to _Imladris_ at first light on the following day with a small team of warriors for protection. They would waste no more time, for their kingdom had so little time left before it was sunk into shadow permanently.

The remaining members of their team had yet to be finalized, but both Faervere and Thallion had spent the previous evening selecting the elves they felt would be best suited to the task. And Thallion had one particular elf in mind who he felt was ready for something of this magnitude.

Thallion was on his way to the barracks when he nearly ran straight into the very elf he had been looking for. One moment, he was rounding the corner at the end of the hall; the next moment, he had a face full of red hair and had to fight to avoid being knocked over completely. He could not wait for his cursed leg to heal.

"Send me with them, sir."

Caranel wasted no time and got directly to the point. She had not even stopped to catch her breath or adjust her appearance, as was so often a habit for the _elleth_.

Her red hair matched her determination, even as her voice threatened to waver when she met her commander's gray eyes. Thallion felt a surge of fondness toward his youngest captain, though he carefully schooled his expression so as not to give it away. He just raised one black eyebrow at her and waited for her to continue. He shifted his weight off his bad leg and looked at the changing emotions on Caranel's face, waiting for the next primary emotion to take over.

"I understand that this is an important task and that not just any elf will be chosen to go," Caranel began. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, shooting Thallion a fierce look to match her now-confident tone. "I know that I'm young and have yet to earn my way, but I feel that if I can offer my queen and the prince _any_ extra protection, then it is my duty as a member of the Elvenking's Royal Army to do so."

The commander could no longer hold back his pride, so he fixed his warrior with a light smile.

"Yes, Caranel, I know," he couldn't help but to be amused at her sudden surprise. It was as though he had stolen the wind straight from her sails and he wanted to laugh outright. She hadn't expected to 'win' the argument so easily. "You have proven to be a loyal, strong warrior. That is why I suggested that Faervere bring you and one of your squads along. I think you will be a valued addition to the team."

She them beamed, throwing her arms around her now-stunned commander and hugging him tightly, before realizing what she had just done and letting him go just as quickly.

"Um, th-thank you sir—Thallion!"

She blurted her correction and her ears turned bright red. Caranel then turned on her heel and quickly left before she embarrassed herself further.

Thallion could only chuckle at the _elleth_ as she rushed off in a flurry of hair _._

* * *

As soon as the dreaded morning council meeting drew to a close, Faervere made his way to the dining halls. He wasn't hungry in the slightest, his nerves were twisting his stomach into a food-repelling bundle and he wanted to avoid the nausea that would surely accompany such an unpleasant feeling.

However, Faervere was more interested in finding a young elfling who was likely to be picking at a plate of food in a lonely corner of one of the halls. After all, it was exactly the thing his younger brother did whenever one of the three elder princes left the palace. And if the usual gossip-mill were still in full force, then it was likely that Legolas already knew about the final decision that had been made.

The more he searched the dining areas, the more the rich smell of food caused the older elf's stomach to flip, sending an awful pang of nausea—mixed with a sense of longing—through his slender body. _Ai,_ how he wished he were hungry!

Just as he'd suspected, Legolas sat in a far corner of the second dining hall, his head leaned low over a half-filled plate of bread and fruit that looked as though it hadn't even been picked at. The child looked miserable, lonely in a way Faervere loathed to see.

"Your food might run away if you eat it any slower, _tithen las._ "

Soulful dark-blue eyes met Faervere's, bringing a sad little smile to the older elf's face. His little brother was truly in a melancholy state.

"Will you catch it for me if it does?"

Faervere lowered his shaking body beside the elfling on the wooden bench, looking everywhere else but at the unfinished food on Legolas' plate. He didn't think he was quite ready to see food, not if he didn't want last night's meal to return in a hurry.

"Word must travel quickly, _Penneth_ , for you to have already heard."

Legolas nodded solemnly, staring back down at his plate as though he were planning on taking another bite, no matter how unlikely that was at this point.

"Was…?" The elfling began, but then paused, almost like he thought better of his question. He never used to hesitate so much with his brothers, but adolescence had made him very unsure of himself. Especially these last few months. While Faervere knew it would fade with time, he couldn't stand to see the normally confident young elf so downtrodden and introverted.

The older elf nudged Legolas with his shoulder, gently encouraging him to speak while keeping as neutral an expression on his face as possible.

"Was it hard to convince _Ada_ to let you train?"

Faervere wasn't surprised by Legolas' query. He had gone through training centuries before Legolas had even been born. The elfling had never known a time when his brothers were not warriors of Mirkwood; while the older prince remembered what it was like to be the youngest, to look up to his two older brothers in awe and wonder if he would ever measure up. _Elbereth,_ he still wondered to this day.

"It was very different then, _tithen pen,"_ he sighed, wishing for a better explanation than ' _you grew up in the wrong time period.'_ "Things were simpler then. Our _Adar_ had far fewer worries than he does now. And to be honest, it was _he_ who convinced _me_ to begin training."

Legolas stared up at his brother in disbelief, his eyes widening and his mouth hanging open slightly. Faervere had to laugh at the dumfounded look that took over the young prince's face.

"Yes, Legolas, it's true!"

The younger elf was brought out of his shock and laughed with him, his expression changing into one of amused confusion.

"Well," Faervere began in explanation, breathing in and allowing a 'serious' expression to take over his face. "I was too preoccupied with life in the palace. I caused a lot of trouble, if you can believe it." Legolas shook his head and dropped his jaw once more, pretending to be even more surprised.

"I was constantly thinking of new ways to get Calaeron or Thallion blamed for the many tricks I loved to play. I wanted them to be involved in some way, at the very least. It's my specialty, after all!"

Legolas threw a grape at him with a snicker, thankfully not causing Faervere's queasy stomach to revolt at the fruit.

"And what? _Ada_ told you to grow up?"

"Yes! It was terrible!"

The two youngest princes erupted in vicious giggles, throwing food at each other and earning disapproving looks from some of the palace staff. Their actions caused them to knock over Legolas' goblet, allowing the water inside it to fall to the hall floor and seep across the cool stone. Once they'd settled down a bit, Faervere slid the elfling's now-empty plate away and fixed him with a true serious look.

"Your time will come, Legolas. And when it does, you will be ready—I promise."

The blond-haired elfling nodded, feeling a little less unsure of himself than before.

"Now," Faervere stood. "Would you like to help me pack?"

Legolas nodded, standing up with him. Then, to Faervere's joy, a sly look slid onto Legolas' face. That looked so much better on him than the loneliness from minutes earlier.

"Race you!"

The elfling took off before Faervere could process what happened, leaving him scrambling to catch up with his quick little brother. The dining hall staff couldn't help but to laugh fondly at the two young brothers, despite now being left with their mess—something that rarely happened. They would always need a little joy to make their days brighter, no matter what kind of mischief came with it.

* * *

 **-FiTS**


	4. Chapter 4

Word of the council's decision had traveled like wildfire and there was no shortage of concerned elves offering what they could to the voyagers.

Nerciel, the experienced elder _elleth_ who ran the palace kitchens, rallied as many elves as she could in a hasty effort to make as much food for the warriors as possible. If she could have her way, they would have enough food to fill their bellies three times over and still have some left aside.

The royal family had always been kind to her, never demanding of her time. She didn't feel like she worked _for_ the royals, but rather that she worked with them. It wasn't a rare occurrence to see one of the princes sitting on a counter in the kitchens, stealing samples of food while they talked to the elves as they worked. They were often times soothing company for the kitchen staff, providing much laughter—and someone to experiment on.

Nerciel knew all of their favorite foods and she had even taken the time, much to Lanthir's insistence, to teach them how to prepare their favorite dish themselves. The crown prince Calaeron especially loved to cook. His face lit up every time he strolled into the kitchens, inhaling heavily and excited to learn what food was causing the delicious scent he smelled. He often stood hip-to-hip with Nerciel, elbow-deep in the makings of some new treat to share with his brothers.

"Not that," she gently swatted at one of the _ellon's_ who hastily began to knead dough for a very plain waybread. "Prince Faervere does not like that kind. Let me show you how to do it the way he likes."

She took over, leaning into the dough and reaching for the ingredients she knew would make the young prince smile.

She knew how to feed her boys.

While the kitchen staff hurried to prepare enough food, many other elves rushed about in their own arrangements. The entirety of the day was spent in a mad rush to prepare the small group for their long and perilous journey to _Imladris._

Food, clothing, and supplies had been gathered and packed with care. The group would consist of a dozen elves, including the queen and prince. They would move quickly with such small numbers, but it would likely be a large enough group that they would be able to defend themselves against attack should the situation arise.

Their families had been invited to spend the day in the palace, squeezing out as many hours with their loved ones as possible during the short preparation, for none knew when they would return once their task was complete.

Apseniel, Caranel's closest friend, spent every moment by her side. He and her father, a former warrior himself, offered as much support and advice as they could think of. She was all either of them had.

The royal family was also in a rare state, trying hard to remain as focused and emotionally stable as possible for their people while also trying to ignore the fear that threatened to swallow them whole as the precious hours slipped by. It was one thing for the three elder princes to be gone for patrols on a too-frequent basis, but a completely different situation for any of them to leave the relative safety of the realm entirely. Especially when one of them was the queen.

The journey to _Imladris_ was long, made even more so by the pathways that were now no longer maintained or guarded by the woodland elves. The forest had reclaimed many of the roads and paths that used to be traversed more regularly when the forest was younger and the shadow was nothing but a niggling worry in the back of their minds. Now, none knew what kind of peril or dark trickery nestled among the rotting green.

They would be heading into unknown territory, and an uneasy shadow fell upon the royal family as the day went on.

Thallion and Calaeron spent hours with Faervere, pouring over maps of the terrain—however ineffective they would be after years of disuse—and perfecting strategy in order to keep their fellow elves as safe as they could. Rivers were marked, escape routes were noted, and ancient Talans—as many that may have survived—were circled on every map. They would plan for everything.

It was the largest undertaking any of them had been privy to in many years.

The three princes tried not to think about how stressful the coming weeks would be. Not only would they be worried for their family members, but Calaeron and Thallion would have to run extra patrols to make up for Faervere's absence. Hrávo, Faervere's second-in-command, would be a great help to the eldest princes in the coming weeks.

Though Faervere wasn't taking his entire company, the remaining warriors would need to be divided amongst other companies until the prince returned from _Imladris_ and could resume command. Hrávo was taking half of them and forming a much smaller, two-guard company. The other half would go with Thallion's company.

As the day drew to a close, spirits were low and tensions were high. Beyond preparing for their journey, neither Faervere nor Lanthir felt they had spent enough quality time with their family. Night fell too soon and both knew they should be getting their rest in order to be ready for their long journey, but neither found it easy to fall asleep.

The night would be a long one for all.

* * *

The palace was cold and unusually quiet in the darkness of the night as Legolas made his way down the silent halls. His head was hung in shame and his feet dragged, while a giant yawn erupted over his young face.

His small body still shook and trembled with the fear and anxiety that coursed through him, though it didn't help that he was also covered in a cold sweat that clung to his skin like a too-small cloak. _Ai,_ he was too old for nightmares!

But a nightmare was exactly the reason why the young prince found himself standing outside the door to his parents' bedchamber, hand poised to knock. Every time his knuckles drifted toward the wood, he changed his mind and hesitated. What if they were asleep already?

Finally, Legolas gathered the courage to knock on the ornate door in front of him and waited, breath held nervously, for it to open. It had taken him long enough to seek the company and comfort of his _Naneth_.

"I was wondering when you'd finally decide to knock, _Penneth._ "

Lanthir's long hair was unbound and flowed all around her slender shoulders as she stood in the now-open doorway, haloed by the low light of the chamber behind her. The warm, easy smile on the _Elleth's_ face brought a sense of relief to Legolas and it washed over him. He'd come to the right person, after all. She seemed to know what was wrong right away, taking him into her arms and smoothing down his matted, tangled blond locks.

"You must be having as much trouble sleeping as I am, little one."

Legolas felt his cheeks color with embarrassment, but her gentle hand on his face seemed to melt that away. She gently tugged him into the room, closing the door behind him. Already, his fearful shakes seemed to be subsiding in her radiant presence.

"Do we have a visitor?"

Legolas hadn't seen his _Ada_ at all that day, as the Elvenking had been so busy that the elfling hadn't even laid eyes on him once. After everything that happened that day, Legolas was glad to see his father. Now, watching the king sit up in bed, already rearranging the soft blankets to make more room for Legolas, quelled the remaining fear that clung to his skin.

He nodded, almost shyly, to his _Ada_ before slowly climbing into the warm bed and settling his small body against Thranduil's side. He still fit perfectly into the little hollow between the king's side and shoulder.

Thranduil bestowed a loving kiss against his youngest son's temple, smiling tiredly at Lanthir over Legolas' hair. The little tilt of her head, the one that playfully said _'he's_ your _son'_ made the Elvenking chuckle quietly at her.

The three elves slid under the covers, Legolas laying half atop his father's broad chest, and they relaxed into the warmth and love that surrounded them. And no matter how much he would claim to be too old for it, Legolas spent the remainder of the night snuggled close between his two parents for comfort.

Lanthir would never grow tired of waking up to the beautiful face of one of her boys, no matter how old they grew to be. It brought back memories of when her children were small, bringing her breakfast in bed or crawling under the covers with their _Nana_ during the heavy thunderstorms that would rumble through the stone walls of the palace.

She wouldn't trade a single moment of it for anything else in Middle Earth.

* * *

Thranduil gently lifted his beautiful wife onto her steed, making sure she was seated comfortably and her sword was still within her grasp. It had to be just close enough for her to reach without impeding her movement. He fretted over the thin straps to her pack, checking them three times before moving on to worrying over whether her saddle was adjusted properly or her horse was fully rested.

It had been a very long time since the queen had left the palace, and even longer since she had been in any kind of danger, and Thranduil could not help but to regret agreeing to this plan. He had hardly gotten a moment's rest the previous evening, his insides twisting with anxiety at the thought of all the things that could go wrong.

"Thranduil, please," Lanthir whispered to her worried husband. If the occasion weren't so solemn, she would have found it in herself to laugh at his ceaseless fussing. Some things never changed, and not even becoming a king would stop her beloved husband from worrying over her until he made himself ill—just as he'd done when they were first married.

"All will be well, _meleth nin,_ I promise."

She smiled tenderly at Thranduil, cupping his pale face and then turning her dark-blue eyes on the equally-concerned countenance of her eldest son. One would think she would be accustomed to how closely Thranduil and his first-born resembled one another, but it always seemed to catch her breath every single time she set eyes on Calaeron.

His and Thallion's late-night conversation came to mind as the crown prince bestowed his mother with an intense look, conveying all of the faith he had in her remarkable strength.

"May the _Valar_ protect you, _Naneth._ "

Lanthir reached out and took his hand, squeezing it and trying to send every ounce of her love through that grasp alone. Her sons were such strong young elves, proving many times that they were capable of so much love and compassion.

"Be safe, 'Vere."

Calaeron laid a hand on his younger brother's knee, smiling encouragingly at the strong young elf sitting tall atop his horse. Faervere continuously made him proud. No matter how insecure the younger elf could be, Calaeron had watched him become a fierce leader over the last few centuries.

Lanthir glanced over and smiled as she spotted her third child leaning over the side of his steed as he tried to make his littlest brother laugh through the poorly-concealed tears that littered the elfling's face.

Saying goodbye to Legolas very nearly caused Lanthir to change her mind entirely, and she was ever-thankful that she had done it _before_ she'd stepped out into the courtyard. She didn't think she could take it on top of everything else that morning. She was just glad the elfling was standing next to Thallion so his older brother could give him as much support as possible.

Somehow, through all of their own worry, both Thallion and Faervere had picked up on their brother's distress, warming the queen's heart with their care and devotion. They had always put Legolas above themselves without ever being asked to. They felt it was their duty, and Lanthir would never be more proud of the sons she had raised.

Her heart ached thoroughly for her fearful husband and her far-too-burdened eldest son; for her second child, whose self-reproach and lack of attention to his own well-being always left a worrying knot in her stomach; for her mischievous third child, whose laughter had been far too absent for Lanthir's liking; and for her baby, who would have to grow up quickly and face the harshness of their world all too soon.

Before long, it was time for the twelve to leave. A light breeze had picked up and clouds were slowly rolling in, blanketing the stone in a gray haze. However, the forest again devoted its fleeting attention to something other than the weather and the entire courtyard was silent as the grave as Faervere and Lanthir led the way out of the safety of the palace and off into the trees.

Apseniel had said his goodbyes to Caranel before she'd mounted her own horse and followed. Thallion bestowed a few final words of advice to his young captain, proud of the confident manner with which she had presented herself, before she too left the palace.

Thallion tried not to watch his family depart the courtyard, for he had the sudden, terrible feeling something was amiss. He didn't want to acknowledge his instincts; he was almost certain it was the very situation that had him so worried. This wasn't the first time he had felt this way and it would not be the last.

The twelve brave souls rode out of sight, leaving a group of very lost elves behind them.

* * *

The cold, cruel wind of the late Autumn storm that had earlier just been making its way toward them now howled just outside the palace walls, threatening its occupants with an icy fist and warning all inside of its arrival. None wanted to imagine their loved ones getting caught in the storm and they hoped there was enough shelter wherever they were.

Thranduil shuffled through a growing pile of scrolls on his desk, unsure what he was really looking for and not certain he would find it where he was searching. Maybe he was seeking a distraction amongst his work, one that he didn't think he'd be able to find no matter how thoroughly he dug.

Lanthir had been away for only a few hours and already, the king found himself fraught with worry. It wasn't like he was unused to fear. He dealt with it every time his loved ones left the safety and warmth of the palace walls. But this, he wasn't sure what to do with.

Not only was one of his children heading deep into the very forest they fought to control each passing day, but his wife—of all elves—was out there, too. His heart and soul, his _waterfall,_ was too far for even his arms to shelter.

A cruel, lonely pit had already begun to form deep within him, taunting him with her absence.

He hated this. There were few moments when he truly despised being the Elvenking. And this was the worst of them all. Especially when he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do if something were amiss. He would have to sit there, helpless, while others went to their aid. Would he even know if something were wrong?

A light knock pulled him from his worries and he glanced towards the closed doors to his chamber's study. Not too long ago, this room was his youngest child's nursery. It was filled with joy and laughter, with a warmth that would have been a great comfort during these trying times. What he wouldn't give to go back to those dearly-missed days.

"Enter."

Thallion gingerly limped into his father's study, tilting his head slightly to the side and raising an eyebrow, clearly asking for permission to fully enter the room. Thallion and Thranduil's relationship had vastly improved over the years. One particular incident involving his elfling, a spider, and almost a week of heartbreaking worry had certainly gone a long way toward that improvement; however, Thallion would never feel comfortable just walking into a room without permission. Faervere was the opposite and would barge in before Thranduil had the chance to realize there was even someone outside the door.

"You may enter, _Ion nin,_ I'm just sorting through some of this clutter."

A soft chuckle escaped from the younger elf as he eyed the mountainous piles of scrolls upon the Elvenking's desk. Thallion knew his king wasn't doing any organizing, not any kind the raven-haired prince was familiar with. If one could even call shuffling a form of "organization." No, he was obviously just moving items from one unsteady pile to another in order to give himself something to do.

"Please get off that leg of yours, Thallion, it pains me to even watch you hobble around this palace like that."

They shared a weary smile and the darker-haired elf gladly obeyed, sinking into an overstuffed armchair across from his _Adar_ and sighing in relief _._ He absentmindedly rubbed at a tender spot in the muscle just above his still-healing wound, looking at the spot with distaste, before turning his gaze back to a slightly-amused Elvenking.

"I came here to speak to you about something I witnessed a few days ago. With everything that's happened, I haven't had a moment to come to you about this until now."

Thranduil now focused his full attention on Thallion, feeling tendrils of concern the closer he gazed into his son's gray eyes. The lines of tension marring the Avar's face seemed to be permanently etched there. Thranduil was certain his own face couldn't be much better. He was lucky he hadn't visibly aged from the amount of stress he could feel coursing through his body. It wasn't often he felt his years, but he was certainly feeling them now.

"Caranel came to me with some information that I'm sure will be news to you," Thallion leaned forward, giving his king the closest to a formal posture as his exhausted body could provide. "She saw Legolas and his friends on the training grounds, they were teaching him to use a bow. I believe they were attempting to cheer him up, but apparently his first shot was more startling than anyone anticipated."

All of the color rapidly drained from Thranduil's face and a hot mass of worry and anger slowly built in his stomach. He could only imagine the kind of horrors that could have occurred on the training fields when one mixed three inexperienced elflings with weaponry. There was more than one reason Thranduil did not want his youngest on those fields. What possessed three young children to go playing with weapons unsupervised?

"What has he done?" Barely-controlled wrath flowed through the king, seeping into his voice and darkening his eyes, lending evidence to just how angry the Elvenking was. This kind of reaction was exactly what Thallion wanted to spare his youngest brother from. There was nothing more fearsome than a concerned parent, especially when that parent was Thranduil. "I have warned him about stepping foot on those—"

"Please, my lord, allow me to finish."

Thallion could see that Thranduil was struggling to hold back his fury. The king rose from his chair and was now angrily pacing in front of the younger elf, staring down at his shaking hands as though trying to will them into stillness with sheer force of mind. Thranduil had told Legolas time and again that he was not to be on the training grounds, how many more times must he tell him before it stuck?

"He fired a perfect shot, _hir nin,_ on his first try. Caranel claims the forest itself was completely silent, she said she'd never witnessed anything like it. It was as though an enchantment were upon the trees."

Surprise mixed with the anger on the Elvenking's face, both eyebrows raising into his hairline. It was unheard of for the trees to be interested in something so trivial. And even more unheard of for an elfling to have such raw talent as to be so accurate with a bow without any prior training. He wondered what else Thallion could say to surprise him.

"That cannot be."

Thallion locked eyes with the king, taking a steady breath. He would need to be cautious with his next words. Pushing too far would only earn him the wrath of the Elvenking, but not pushing far enough would get him nowhere fast. It was a delicate line he would have to tread in order to get his point across.

"I trust Caranel with my life, that is how I know she was speaking the truth. I myself spoke to Legolas about the incident. He did not deny it, and I wouldn't expect him to. I think he's matured enough for us to allow him the chance to prove himself."

The surprise instantly disappeared from Thranduil's face, returning again to the rage that seethed just below the surface. The king's light-colored eyes burned like two blue flames ready to devour all who dared cross the Elvenking. Thallion could only hope he'd pushed _just_ hard enough.

"You know my position on this, just as well as anyone else does."

The younger elf tried to fix his expression into one of understanding and respect, for he was treading into dangerous waters. Never before had he spoken to his father, his king, in this way. He was very much pushing the boundaries between a son and a subject, if the ice in Thranduil's tone was anything to go by.

" _Goheno nin,_ but we only hold him back out of love. Not because he lacks the skill or maturity," the anger slid from Thranduil's face, replaced by what almost looked like a deep sense of longing and sadness. "We both know he has more wisdom than any elf his age. We can't afford to hold him back any longer, my king."

Fear overtook all other emotions as Thranduil sank back into his chair, his body seeming to melt and collapse into the softness of the cushions and making him appear much too old for Thallion's comfort. He wished more than anything that he could be having any other conversation with his father than the one he was having now, for he could see the toll his words were having on the king.

"This discussion would not be taking place if we were in Greenwood," Thallion sighed, hoping he was not overstepping once again. He let all of his own fears, all of his emotions, leak into his low, roughened voice as he continued.

"We no longer have the luxury of shutting him away in the palace in hopes that we may shield him from the horrors of this kingdom. Those horrors are at our doorstep with nothing standing between him and them. Much as we would like to deny it, he has grown before our very eyes. He is eager to learn how to defend not only himself, but the home he stands watching darken by the day. Legolas is the flame that will light Greenwood's future, and you are now the only one who cannot see it."

Thranduil looked thoroughly defeated, beaten down in a way that was wrong on so many levels. Thallion had the overwhelming feeling that he had said exactly the wrong thing and he had the urge to beg the _Valar_ to take it all back. It wasn't his wish to hurt his father, but perhaps open his eyes and show him that the youngest member of their family may also be the strongest. Legolas was certainly stronger than Thallion could ever claim himself to be.

The young prince had a purpose on Middle Earth that neither of them understood, but that they could both sense. Already, he could see his words sinking into the Elvenking's mind, working their way through his anger.

The exhausted prince stood, hoping his leg would not give out on him and spoil the serious conversation that charged the air between father and son. It was time to leave his father in peace and allow him to process everything that had been said. He just needed to leave the elder with one last thought.

"Please, _Adar,_ consider being the spark that will allow Legolas to truly shine."

He turned and left the room, and a very conflicted father, behind.

Once the door closed, Thranduil heaved a heavy sigh. Could the _Valar_ not give him a moment to catch his breath?

* * *

It had only been a few short hours since they bid their _Naneth_ and Faervere farewell, but it had already felt like too long to the elfling. Time seemed both stretched out and compressed together at once and it was growing increasingly difficult for him to unravel the past from the present. He found it hard to believe that his miracle shot with Alarcien and Mitsion had only happened the day before, while the departure of his family members wasn't much further away than it was.

He sat with his two friends in one of the palace's many dining chambers, his mind wandering far away. Legolas had tried and failed many times to listen to Mitsion's newest tale. The other elf's jubilant tones blended into the ambient noise within the dining hall and he couldn't make out the specifics of anything around him. He was distracted, more so than he expected himself to be.

A small hand settled on his arm, bringing him out of his distraction and causing him to look into the curious face of Alarcien. The pure understanding in her expression eased some of the embarrassment he should have felt at being caught so adrift. The _elleth_ didn't appear to mind his lack of attention, for most of the kingdom was probably in a similar state as he.

"Were you in much trouble earlier?"

At first, Legolas could not remember what he would have been in trouble for. It had been such a long day that everything seemed to have melded together.

Sensing his confusion, she elaborated.

"Do you think Thallion told your _Ada_ of what we did on the grounds?"

Understanding dawned on him, the shameful heat returning to the back of his neck at the memory of the gentle scolding Thallion had bestowed upon him. Yes, he remembered now. He wished he hadn't, that he could forget the whole thing ever happened.

The more he dwelled on it, the more he realized how selfish he had been. What need did he have for excitement when the entire kingdom was suffering? His _Ada_ had a hard enough job as it was, without Legolas making it even harder.

"I don't know," he sighed. "With everything that has happened, I'm not sure Thall has said anything to him."

Mitsion began shaking his head, his eyes widening.

"No way," he said forcefully, sitting forward and still shaking his head. "The Elvenking? If he knew, you would have known about it right away. He wouldn't let you get away with it, or us for that matter. There's no way he knows."

Legolas only shrugged. He had no idea what his father thought anymore. They hadn't spent much time together recently, so he had very little insight into the inner workings of the king's mind. For all he knew, the king could have been aware of the incident and decided he didn't care either way.

He did not know.

The oppressive silence of the dining hall slowly began to weigh on Legolas' overburdened shoulders. It did not seem to help him, sitting with his friends, like he hoped it would. He needed to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else.

As he stood abruptly, Mitsion gave him a bewildered look. Alarcien, however, seemed to understand that Legolas hadn't really been with them mentally for the entire afternoon. All it took was a hand on Mitsion's shoulder for her to stop him from asking the prince anything else. Legolas needed to be left in peace.

He needed to get out.

* * *

 **-FiTS**


	5. Chapter 5

He exited the palace with a relieved sigh. It had been far too stifling for the elfling to remain indoors much longer. A gentle breeze teased at Legolas' long hair, causing the blond tresses to flow about in soft wisps all about his fair face. He breathed in deeply, letting the crispness of the air wash out any remaining lethargy from his body and clear some of the fuzz out of his head.

He strolled slowly toward a small, secluded portion of the palace gardens. The patch of greenery was not too far from the cavernous entrance to the royal chambers and was one of the last few peaceful areas of nature left in the fortress. He found himself there almost daily, content with the quiet and contemplative environment his sanctuary provided.

Legolas went there whenever he felt too smothered within the damp, dark walls of the palace. Because much of the Elvenking's halls were below ground, the elves of Greenwood built many large gardens with which to immerse themselves in nature. They needed something to balance out their home, especially since it was built into the large caves that spread out far below the ground. Trees could not grow underneath, and so the elves brought them close by to keep themselves closer to nature and to balance out the gray of rock with bright, green life.

As he approached his usual stone bench, a seated blond figure caught Legolas' eye and for a moment, he wondered what the king was doing sitting in the gardens alone. The Elvenking rarely left the palace anymore. Legolas often wondered whether the elf lord even remembered what the outside of his own walls looked like.

" _Ada?"_

The figure turned and revealed himself to be the crown prince and not the Elvenking, much to Legolas' amazement. Although he shouldn't be surprised at mistaking his brother for their _Ada,_ it wasn't often that Calaeron took a break from his duties as Lord Commander. Perhaps none of the elder members of the kingdom knew what resting meant?

"Hello, _Penneth."_

The elfling couldn't help but to be bothered by the exhaustion in the older elf's voice. It sent a burst of sorrow through his bones. His brother shouldn't be so tired, and yet they all were. Calaeron's voice was missing the usual confidence and wisdom that came with being the eldest brother and crown prince. Legolas thought he sounded too…normal. Even the word itself felt wrong when paired with the older elf.

"What are you doing out here?"

Calaeron laughed in surprise, causing Legolas to grow very flustered and to nearly trip over himself in an attempt to take back his words. He did not mean them that way! "I mean, not that you _can't_ be out here. Of course you can! I'm glad you are!"

"Relax, _tithen las,_ I am only teasing." Legolas gently shoved his eldest brother's shoulder before sitting down on the stone bench beside him. He observed the tightness around Calaeron's light blue eyes and the slight wearied scowl that fixed itself onto the elf's face. Even his posture seemed slightly wilted, rounded in a way that made him somehow appear smaller than he should be. Calaeron then smiled faintly at him when he realized he was being studied by the all-too-observant elfling.

"It has been a rough few days, hasn't it?"

Legolas had the sudden urge to burrow himself into his brother's side as frustrated tears threatened at his dark blue eyes, but he held back. It would not help him to appear more mature if he suddenly started behaving like a frightened youngling whenever he was having a bad day! It should not be everyone else's responsibility to comfort him.

Despite this, Calaeron must have sensed Legolas' need, much as he had always done. The larger elf wrapped a long arm around Legolas' shoulders, pulling him into his side and squeezing with enough pressure to relieve the stinging in the elfling's eyes and still his racing mind. Legolas reveled in the comfort that washed over him, pleased that Calaeron had never lost the ability to soothe him. Whether he felt like he should not need it, he couldn't deny that it brought him peace.

Legolas rested his head against Calaeron's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat of one of the strongest elves he knew. He could stay right there with his brother forever, soaking in his warmth and love for an age. He felt somewhat sleepy as he absorbed the comfort his oldest brother offered him.

The breeze from minutes ago held a sudden bite to it, causing the elfling to shiver and melt further into the elder's side. He studied the fine stitching in the crown prince's tunic, as though focusing on something so small could erase everything else around him. Legolas pressed himself as close as he could to the warmer body next to his, but Calaeron didn't seem to mind. In fact, the elder craved the contact just as much as Legolas did.

"I feel I must apologize, _Penneth_."

Legolas looked up into light blue eyes in surprise, craning his neck to get a better view of Calaeron's sorrowful face. What would Calaeron need to apologize to him for? "I haven't spent very much time with you these last few weeks."

Understanding dawned on him like a warm cloak, wrapping around him and plunging him in security. His brother hadn't forgotten about him, despite how thoroughly demanding his new position had become. While Legolas knew that already, it was a tender notion that Calaeron would worry about whether or not his youngest brother would feel abandoned by him. His absence in the elfling's life was mostly due to the new responsibilities that had been laid upon the crown prince's shoulders.

"I understand, Cal," Legolas again tilted his face up toward the pale features that were fixed on him. "The kingdom needs you."

Pride formed in the older prince's stomach, blossoming into a smile that slid onto his face and lit up his eyes. He truly had a very special elfling for a baby brother, didn't he?

" _Ai,_ Legolas, but so do you."

The elfling shrugged, resting his head back onto Calaeron's chest and rubbing his cheek against the smooth material of the older prince's tunic. There were many things Legolas needed, but he could not be selfish. He knew he had to share his family with the rest of the kingdom, no matter how much he wished he could keep them all to himself.

"I will always need you, Cal."

Unbeknownst to Legolas, a single tear slid down Calaeron's angular face.

Their home had shown the crown prince many things, many lessons he wished he had never learned. So few years ago, it hadn't been easy for him to imagine an elfling growing up within the new dangers of the kingdom without somehow being tainted by all of the pain around them. At first, he had been angry with the Elvenking and queen, as though they had planned his birth. How could they do such a selfish thing, subjecting an innocent babe to the darkness and terror their land threatened them with?

But seeing him now, seeing everything he had overcome along the way and still coming out ahead, gave him such hope for the future of the realm. He was truly the best of them all, although maybe they'd had a little something to do with it.

Calaeron could only hope that they'd poured enough love into him to shield him from the horrors their land had to offer. They all had a hand in raising him, instilling him with as much hope and honor as they could muster.

After all, his birth could not have been a coincidence. Perhaps he had come to them at the exact _right_ time, contrary to all of their fears.

He was their hope.

* * *

The next morning brought with it a stillness over the very heart of the palace, settling into the walls and putting an eerie chill into the air. It was strange how the absence of two people within the palace could so drastically alter the environment.

Calaeron was perched atop a counter in the kitchens, munching unenthusiastically on an apple. He hadn't really slept the night before and once the sun rose over the half-buried stone walls, he had decided he would rather roam than remain in his silent quarters a minute longer.

There was much to be done today, but he reveled in the lack of activity so early in the morning. It allowed him to feel like he could take a moment to breathe before having to shoulder his responsibilities for another day.

He slid off the counter and took another slow bite, wandering lazily toward one of the more private dining halls. There were few elves out and about so far, the rush from the day before must have tired many of the usual early-goers. It would have been relaxing if not for the strangeness of it.

Calaeron had always been a morning person, but he couldn't help but wish he had slept just a little longer.

The private dining area, the one where the royal family typically ate, was empty when he meandered in. He settled into one of the unoccupied chairs, muttering to himself in annoyance as juice from his apple ran down the side of his hand.

"You always were a messy eater."

The sudden voice in the absolute silence of the room startled Calaeron, causing him to jump and lose his grip on the last half of his fruit. It fell to the floor with a wet 'thunk.'

"I'm sorry, _ion nin,_ I did not mean to startle you."

The Elvenking picked up a cloth from the table and bent down, retrieving the lost apple and setting it on the wood next to Calaeron. He then poured himself a glass of water from one of the serving cups on the center of the table and took a seat beside his eldest child.

For several minutes, neither of the blond elves said a word. They were content in each other's company without the need for conversation. The only sound in the entire room was their quiet breathing, each of them working through their own internal thoughts.

Thranduil found himself thinking about the days when Calaeron was an only child. Many fathers claimed their sons were their best friends, but Thranduil could truly say that he and his first-born had been close from day one.

The moment the king laid eyes on the tiny bundle, he knew that he would never love anything as much as he loved being a father. Nothing could compare to the joy, as well as the fear, that came with such a harrowing responsibility.

His son had grown into a wonderful adult, someone he knew he could trust and confide in. Not only was Calaeron his son, but he was one of his greatest advisers and confidantes. It was that reason he had gone looking for the younger blond, trusting that he could bring his worries to the prince.

Thallion's words from the night before weighed heavily on his mind well into the late-night hours, troubling him in ways he hadn't expected.

Thranduil didn't realize he'd let out a weary sigh until Calaeron fixed his father with the very same concerned gaze the Elvenking often wore. It felt strange to have such a look leveled at him.

"Yesterday was a long day, _ion nin,_ " he sighed once more. Long wasn't a strong enough description. "I have many things on my mind, but your brother told me something that weighed very heavily on me throughout the night."

"Thallion told me he needed to speak to you yesterday. It _is_ him you are referring to, isn't it?"

The younger elf patiently waited for his _Adar_ to organize his thoughts, feeling just as tired as the king looked.

"Yes, he had many things to say. They were all about our favorite little elfling."

"Legolas? Has he done something?"

The concern in Calaeron's eyes turned to wariness, not sure where the conversation was heading or whether he was going to be happy to hear of what troubled his father. Whenever something involved the elfling, the royal family always seemed to become a worried, stressed bunch of elves. They were very protective of the littlest royal.

"Done, yes. Exactly what I've told him _not_ to do," Thranduil began, taking a breath and trying to keep the remaining anger out of his voice. "He went out onto the training fields with his friends and they taught him how to use a bow."

Both eyebrows rose and Calaeron sucked in a breath, now definitely wary of the situation. Surely the elfling hadn't been hurt?

Had he somehow hurt one of the other children?

"Nothing bad happened, Calaeron, I can see the wheels turning in your head right now," Thranduil scrubbed a hand over his face, clearing his mind and giving his eldest son a slight smile to ease the other elf's worry. "Your brother evidently fired a perfect shot his first time."

If the Elvenking thought the crown prince looked surprised before, he wouldn't have been shocked if the elf had fallen from his chair the very next second.

"No, that cannot be."

Nodding, Thranduil stood and began to pace restlessly, giving Calaeron a moment to compose himself after what his father had just told him.

"Thallion did not witness it, his second did. But after telling me what happened, Thallion said something else that I haven't been able to get off my mind and it has troubled me ever since."

"Will you tell me, _Adar?_ Perhaps it will trouble you less to unburden yourself."

Thranduil stopped pacing, smiling at his son's compassion. Calaeron had more of his mother in him than he realized.

"He believes it's time to stop holding your brother back," he stared straight into Calaeron's face, watching his words affect the younger elf. "He pointed out Legolas' maturity, which I am inclined to agree that he is a very mature youngling. But Thallion called Legolas the 'flame to light Greenwood's future.' To be honest, it was the most optimistic thing I've heard him say in a long time."

Calaeron was dumbfounded, though he was also ridiculously proud of both of his brothers. Yes, Legolas had defied their _Adar_ and gone against everything he had been warned not to do, but he had shown remarkable raw talent that few ever held. And Thallion, he was also proud that the Avar had spoken his mind freely, without fear of reproach. It was something the raven-haired prince wouldn't have done when he was younger.

"I can see why you were unable to sleep, _Adar._ I wouldn't have been able to either, under the circumstances. Although I, too, will agree that Legolas is far more mature than others around his age. In fact, I believe he is more mature than I ever was at his age, though perhaps he has more reason to be than I had."

Calaeron's voice took on a sad, serious tone that Thranduil wished his son could never use. Their little elfling had been forced to grow up so quickly, they all knew that and wished there was something they could do about it.

Just then, the dining hall door creaked and the very elfling who plagued their thoughts stepped timidly into the room, clasping both hands behind his back.

"You are up awful early, _tithen las,"_ Thranduil observed, both concerned and amused by the mussed quality of his youngest child's hair. Legolas must not have slept well, either.

"I wanted to speak to you, _Ad—_ my lord."

Thranduil and Calaeron exchanged significant looks before the crown prince stood and picked up his ruined apple to discard on his way out. This was to be a private moment between the king and his youngest, and he was loathe to spoil it.

"Of course, Legolas," Thranduil sat back down and pulled out the chair Calaeron had just left, angling it to face his own.

The adolescent took that as a hint to take a seat. His small hands wrung together and he seemed to fold in on himself before realizing what he was doing and sitting up straight. Thranduil remained patient, knowing his child would begin when he was ready. If Thallion was right about what he had to say the night before, then the Elvenking had a feeling he already knew what Legolas was doing.

The elfling opened and closed his mouth several times before taking a deep breath and looking directly into his father's light blue eyes.

"I broke your trust, _hir nin,"_ Legolas began, surprising Thranduil with the raw honesty in his voice. The young one sounded so like an adult, stilling the king's breath and making him feel as though he needed to hang onto every word. He was reminded of a younger elfling, sounding years older than he was as he made observations he shouldn't have been able to understand. "You trusted me not to go against your wishes as well as to protect your reputation as a son should, and I did neither. I went onto the training grounds because I selfishly thought it would be exciting, but I never thought about how it could affect what people thought of their king or of how it would make you feel. For that, I am deeply sorry."

Legolas held his father's attention for a moment longer, before lowering his gaze in shame and fighting back the tears that wanted to fill his large, dark blue eyes. If there was ever a moment to express one's maturity by reigning in childish emotions, it was now. _Valar,_ let him have the strength not to cry in front of his father at such an important moment.

Every ounce of anger that remained in the Elvenking's body fled him as he realized that every single thing Thallion had told him was correct. Pride burst through Thranduil and he fought to keep himself serious, using all of his diplomatic training to remain as impassive as possible. It was crucial that he say the right thing in that moment, lest he undo all of the internal struggle Legolas must have gone through to work up the courage to face his father and admit his wrongdoing.

"You did defy me, _ion nin,_ and I am very disappointed to learn that my words were not enough to stop you from doing what I told you not to," Legolas kept his head down, absorbing the disappointment and reproach from his king. "However, I am proud of your honesty and loyalty. Not many elflings would readily admit to their parents that they broke a rule."

The youngest prince looked up, tears filling his eyes but not spilling over, and met his father's gaze once more.

"Thank you, Legolas, for telling me the truth."

Legolas nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and smiled at his _Ada._ The conversation had so far gone better than he could ever have hoped.

"Furthermore, I must now admit something to you."

Thranduil decided to take a risk and speak to his son as he would to an adult instead of as a parent to their child, placing his trust in the youngling while also curious to see how his elfling would handle the mature discussion.

Legolas looked surprised as the tone of his father's voice changed, more confiding rather than kingly.

"Thallion came to me yesterday to tell me of what transpired between you and your friends on the training fields." Shock registered on Legolas' face and his cheeks colored, for he was worried now that his friends would be angry with him. Mitsion was right, he _would_ know if the Elvenking knew about it. "He told me that you fired a rather rare shot, but that you were very mature when he pulled you aside to talk to you about it. I suspect his words are part of why you came to me today?"

"Yes, _hir nin._ I was not thinking and the things he said made me realize how foolish I'd been."

Thranduil nodded, pleased with the direction their talk was going.

"Often times, we are blinded by our desires. We only see one path, not all the different directions our choices can take us. It takes a great deal of learning before we realize that there is more than one way we can accomplish a task." Legolas nodded, understanding dominating his youthful face as he absorbed the advice his father gave him. "You chose a path that led you to go against what you knew was right, and now you have learned from your mistake."

"Yes, _Adar._ "

"You have shown me that you can make mature decisions, Legolas." Thranduil hooked his palm under his son's chin, lifting the young face and smiling softly at him. It was times like these that made him proud of his children, times where he could watch them learning right before his very eyes. "I will allow you to join your friends in their training only if you can promise to give your very best effort, and to do exactly as you are instructed."

The absolute joy that exploded onto his son's face brought Thranduil more peace than he ever could have imagined. It was amazing what one moment could do.

"I promise, thank you _Ada!_ "

It couldn't have been a better morning for Legolas.

* * *

It was now Legolas' turn to be full of energy as he sprinted down the halls. He couldn't have dreamed up a better outcome to the conversation he decided to have with his father.

He was going to let him train. Finally!

Legolas bounded around a corner, narrowly missing a guard, and shouted a hurried "Sorry!" as he continued to run.

At last, he found Alarcien and Mitsion. They had been looking for him when he breezed right past them and had to turn right back around.

"Guess what!"

Alarcien's face lit up, completely sure she already knew what he would say. There was only one thing that could have made their friend so happy after he had been miserable the day before.

"No way!"

She was pulled into a hug, wracked with giggles and ecstatic laughter from her best friend. Mitsion looked dumbfounded, obviously not catching on to the news as she had.

" _Ada's_ letting me train, Mit!"

The other boy squealed and began to hop up and down, joining the other two in their hug. It was the best day Legolas had experienced in a long time.

* * *

Thallion picked at the end of one of his ebony warrior braids, nearly loosening the small leather cord that held it together. It fell from his long fingers as he jumped, gasping in pain when the healer's hands prodded a particularly tender spot.

"Ow," he said dumbly, staring accusingly at the older elf.

"Well," Lanyarion poked at the offending spot again, earning a glare from the Avar. "What do you expect? I told you to stay off this leg. You didn't listen. Now, it hurts."

The shorter-haired elf gestured with his hands, fixing Thallion with a patronizing, _'I told you, you fool'_ look. As much as Thallion hated going to the healers, he had always liked Lanyarion. The elf had a demeanor that the prince could respect.

He was the only healer who wouldn't act as though it were a personal insult if an elf didn't stay put and do exactly as they were told. Lanyarion knew Thallion didn't often listen to the healers' instructions and would call him out on it every time.

It wasn't the healer's job to chase after every elf who needed treatment. He wasn't their mother.

"This isn't healing the way it should be, Thallion."

The healer turned his back on the prince, picking through his tools and herbs trying to decide if there was anything he could do to ease the pain Thallion was in.

For the first time in a very long time, it was Thallion's idea to return to the halls of healing for help. He'd woken that morning in such pain, he thought his leg was going to burst. Thankfully, the pain had subsided somewhat, but it was still terrible.

"This is going to taste awful, but it should help," Lanyarion handed him a cup filled with a very foul-smelling, thick liquid. He expected him to _drink_ this? "Take it or leave it, _mellon nin,_ but I think you need it."

The taste was worse than the smell, if that could even be possible. Once he managed to choke the dreadful concoction down, only gagging twice, he stood as quickly as he could and nearly ran—or rather, stumbled—out of the healing halls as fast as his body would go.

"Foolish prince!"

Lanyarion called after him, his voice cut off by the slamming of the door.

The moment he was out of the room, Thallion slowed down and hissed in pain. Maybe he _was_ a fool for moving so quickly when it was obvious that his body was definitely not in the mood. He set a better pace and limped further, allowing his mind to wander for a moment.

The dread that had taken residence in his gut when he watched the twelve elves ride off on their mission hadn't gone away. In fact, it had seemed to double in weight. Whatever it was that caused him so much discomfort, he hoped it would pass soon. For all he knew, he would be concerned and worried until he laid eyes on the _Imladris_ group once more.

"Thall? Can you hear me?"

Startled, Thallion lurched backward and nearly tripped over his still-throbbing leg, caught completely by surprise.

Calaeron was standing directly in front of him calling his name, the blond prince furrowing his eyebrows in worry and reaching out to steady the younger elf before he fell over.

"Are you all right, _muindor?_ I said your name several times and you didn't stop." Calaeron appeared shaken up by the incident, still holding onto both of Thallion's arms to support his brother. "You were with the healers?"

The fear and hesitation didn't belong in the crown prince's voice.

"All is well, Cal, don't fret." He gently pulled himself out of Calaeron's grip as if to show him that he was, indeed, okay. "I was just very distracted."

"Because of the healers?"

 _Ai,_ he wasn't going to let that go.

"My leg was bothering me this morning, so I went to Lanyarion to make sure it's okay," he sighed, knowing he couldn't lie to Calaeron and get away with it. "He called me a fool, as usual, and told me to 'take it easy.'"

Calaeron snorted, as if to say, 'you? Easy?'

"Legolas went to _Adar_ this morning to tell him what he'd done on the training grounds."

It was Thallion's turn to be surprised, although pleasantly-so. A wide smile broke out across his face. Legolas truly was a remarkable young elf.

"And?"

Calaeron smiled, too.

"Evidently your words yesterday stuck with _Adar_ and from what I just heard, there was a _very_ excited elfling who very nearly knocked over Limbon, the guard over by the dining halls."

The two brothers laughed, trying to picture the look on the guard's face as Legolas must have shot right by him in a blur of hair and laughter.

Some things never changed.

* * *

 **Just a couple chapters left! I'd love to hear from everyone, let me know what you think so far! Thank you to everyone who has read this story!**

 **-FiTS**


	6. Chapter 6

Legolas wrung his small hands, feeling pent-up stress beginning to overload his body. He found it increasingly difficult to remain indoors as the days wore on, strolling out to the fresh air more often in an attempt to clear his head. It was the only way he could make sense of all of the different things going on around him.

After laying eyes on his older brother, Thallion, earlier in the day, Legolas could see that the older elf was feeling stifled, as well. Though he would never say it, the elfling knew his brother well and could easily sense his stress. And after much none-too-subtle begging from the youngest prince, Thallion had finally agreed to join Legolas in the elfling's favorite spot on the palace grounds and was definitely looking better for it.

Legolas had been frequenting that particular spot more regularly as of late, as if the peace of the small patch of nature would seep into his pores and relax him from the outside in. Thallion, on the other hand, had been inside for too long, shutting himself back into his study and finalizing decisions for the replacements of his lost warriors. With his second-in-command away, he had fully immersed himself in his work and hardly took himself away from it. At least he was giving his leg a break, as that was still not healing the way he wanted it to.

It had now been close to three long days since the queen and Faervere had left the palace, and Thallion still could not explain the uneasy feeling that had settled into the very core of his being and refused to leave. He tried to keep it from showing on his face, though he was unsure of just how successful he was. The more exhausted he became, the less sure he was that it wasn't obvious to everyone else.

"Do you think they are safe, Thall?"

Legolas' young voice drew Thallion's thoughts away from the unsettled feeling he still could not place. The elfling must have been thinking much the same as he was.

" _Ai, Penneth,_ I believe they are."

He said no more on the subject, not wanting to speak too soon. Thallion simply placed an arm around Legolas and closed his eyes, leaning his head back and listening closely to the nature that surrounded them. No matter how dim their voices grew, the trees would always be able to calm Thallion's nerves. He could not deny their beauty, even in the darkest of times.

While Thallion's attention drifted, Legolas focused closely on the forest. He could still remember the frustration he felt as a youngling when all he could hear from nature was a sort of inane mumble. His _Naneth_ would always tell him that he would one day be able to understand the trees; it was never a good enough answer for him. He wanted to hear them right away.

Finally, one day he found he could understand their words if he listened hard enough. He knew that he would become more proficient in their language the older he grew, but he could not help the satisfaction he experienced every time he could figure out what they were saying. If only he could go back and speak to the Old Oak for real this time… assuming the ancient tree was even still standing.

The trees did not speak much as they once did, but Legolas still found it to be absolutely fascinating when they conversed. Even if it was about mundane things like birds or rainwater, it was all music to his ears.

' _The breeze is weak,'_ one creaked to another, bringing a fond smile to Legolas' face.

' _My leaves feel only a tickle.'_

They could say anything and Legolas would be overjoyed at every word.

' _Waterfall…'_

Thallion stiffened beside him, sucking in a sharp breath and raising his head as his eyes flew open and his attention was grabbed. Gray eyes roamed the treetops as if trying to find the source of the word. Legolas had not quite made out what the trees had said, as his young ears were still not as adept at picking up their language as Thallion's. He listened harder, hoping the trees would speak again so he could catch what they said.

"What is it?"

Thallion did not look over at Legolas, instead just squinting his eyes and concentrating hard on the breeze that brushed their faces. His heart began to race in his chest and he hoped that he had not heard what he thought he had. At first, there was nothing on the air and he could _almost_ breathe in relief.

' _Waterfall…'_

Again, the trees whispered with more fervent emotion, bringing with them a confusion that washed over Legolas. What did they mean? Thallion, however, was not confused.

' _Waterfall…Waterfall…Waterfall!'_

Thallion stood abruptly, placing both hands on Legolas' shoulders and fixing him with a look that froze him in place and chilled him to the bone. Never before had he seen such a look on his calm, steady brother's face. He wished never to see it again.

 _Lanthir_ meant waterfall. Legolas' heart stuttered to a frightened halt in his chest and his mouth dried.

"Find _Adar,_ Legolas. Tell him that Calaeron and I will ride out immediately."

He squeezed the elfling's shoulders, receiving a slight weak nod from Legolas. It was all the elfling could do not to suddenly begin crying in fear.

"Make haste, _Penneth."_

Thallion then limped out of the courtyard as quickly as his healing leg would carry him, trying hard to ignore the frantic cries of the trees behind him. It felt as though the further he strode away from them, the louder they became.

Those elves who noticed the dark-haired prince stayed out of his way, sensing his focus and determination. They had not seen him looking so troubled in a very long time.

He found his quarry quicker than he could have hoped, spotting the long blond hair of the crown prince and rushing over to him. He gripped his brother's arm, causing the older elf to turn. The surprise hadn't even had the chance to register on the crown prince's face. Calaeron was about to say something when he noticed the desperate, determined expression Thallion wore. It stopped him in his tracks. He knew, by that look alone, that something was amiss.

"When?"

"Half an hour's time—we must hurry."

Calaeron nodded before turning and darting off, leaving Thallion to take only a moment to breathe before he, too, left.

They had to prepare to depart immediately and there was much to be done.

* * *

The energy within the palace nearly made Apseniel's hair stand on end. It rang through the halls and wrapped the elves within the darkened palace in a cloak of uncertainty. While none were entirely sure what was happening, all could feel the urgency of the matter.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

The barracks were in a state of disarray, as the warriors heard the now-desperate cries from the very nature outside the stone of the Elvenking's halls. Young elves were donning their armor, looking to their leaders for any sign of what they should do next. They could sense the need to prepare, but for what—they did not know.

Apseniel narrowed his eyes, spotting his own broadsword and taking it up, fumbling with the straps of his armor as he tried to hurriedly pull it on. Somehow, he knew he would not be returning to the barracks any time soon.

The warrior met up with the rest of the elves in his band, eyeing them carefully and making sure they were prepared to leave as soon as possible. It was his duty as their chief and he could almost hear Caranel's light voice in his head, telling him he was too slow—she would have had her band ready far quicker than he.

Amongst the chaos, Apseniel saw Prince Faervere's second, Hrávo, leading his own band to the armory. Thallion and Calaeron would surely be there preparing themselves, and there was no way Apseniel was letting them leave without him.

He met Hrávo's eye, nodding at the other elf in acknowledgement. They had the same idea.

Spotting Prince Thallion, Apseniel strode to his commander. The rest of his band hung back, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for their orders. They had never seen Commander Thallion in such a somber mood and they hoped they could serve him as well as he had always done for them.

"Let me go with you, Commander," he squared his shoulders and stared into Thallion's dark eyes. The other elf raised an eyebrow for but a moment, before making his decision. Caranel was Apseniel's best friend; she was all he had. Thallion would never come between that.

Thallion nodded once, giving all the answer Apseniel needed.

"Thank you, Thallion."

Apseniel bowed slightly, the first time he had ever bestowed the normally informal commander with the action, and finished readying his troops, occasionally spotting Hrávo doing the same. They were both worried for their comrades. He could not imagine how he would feel if not only Caranel, but his commander too, were out in the forest in danger. The situation was dire enough as it was without the fear of losing your leader.

Preparations were made in half the time they expected. None would question the royals in such a time, as they could all sense the urgency of the matter. If that wasn't motivating enough, the very nature around them constantly muttering _'Waterfall'_ was enough to prod them into action. Stable hands had their steeds ready to run before they even arrived to the stables, as the word had somehow traveled ahead of them.

Perhaps it was the Elvenking's doing.

Finally, they set out from the palace at a speed that would have been too brisk in any other situation save for this one. But for the two princes, it could not have been swift enough.

As they began their journey, Thallion couldn't help but to allow fond memories to wash over him, perhaps lessening the fear that threatened to choke him. He refused to think of anything else, for he wasn't sure he could bear it. The shaking of his hands around the reins and the too-furious thudding of his heart in his chest made it difficult for him to find his calm, focused center.

 _A much younger Thallion strode angrily down the halls, barely-contained rage causing his slender hands to quake and sending small vibrations up his arms. He had been within these palace walls for nearly a year and yet the pain and unfairness of it all still left him with a hollow fury as cold as the harshest winds of winter. The rage and agony seemed to always simmer just below the surface, rising up at the most inopportune moments and swallowing him whole._

 _More than once, he found himself throwing things or breaking furniture in his room in a sudden fit of anger and impatience._

 _He couldn't help but wake up every morning and wish that he had taken Pellion's place. The little one's bright smile and large, round eyes haunted his dreams with their familiarity. Each night, he could hear his mother's screams as she clutched her tiny babe in desperation. Peleneth had died holding her infant to her chest, begging the_ Valar _for help._

 _His father, Thuril, had fought long and hard for his family and for his tribe. Thallion, though he was young, stood beside him and did all he could to defend against the vicious attack that seemed as though it would never stop. In the end, nothing had been good enough._

 _He hadn't been strong enough._

 _Thallion felt as though the_ Valar _had cursed him, and the anger burned a ragged hole into his chest that was growing larger and more consuming each day._

 _The Elvenking, the very being who had saved his life not so long ago, had made it a point to visit with him almost daily, whether Thallion spoke a word to him or not. They had made a connection the moment the king had found him. Somehow, Thallion felt Thranduil understood the pain he was going through without directly telling him so._

 _Prince Calaeron had been obnoxiously present, inserting himself into Thallion's life like an infuriating shadow. At first, Thranduil had asked his only son to spend a little time with Thallion, hoping having someone close to his own age around would help the Avarin elf to adjust. He was growing fond of Calaeron, though he was not yet ready to admit it. Thallion tried not to take his anger out on the older elf, for he knew the boy meant well whether Thallion was in the right mood or not._

 _The only elf Thallion truly could not bear to mistreat was the Elvenqueen Lanthir. She was a ray of sunshine in his dark times. She always managed to soothe his ragged emotions. She calmed him down and comforted him in ways only his own mother had ever been able to do. And maybe that was the very reason he avoided her at all costs._

 _He_ wanted _to be angry. He wanted to hate everything, because there was truly nothing that could explain why his beloved family had been stolen from him. His people,_ _his_ _entire tribe, had been needlessly and violently murdered and he was the only survivor. How just was that?_

" _Thallion?"_

 _The one elf he did not want to see seemed to be the only one to find him in his worst moments._

"Penneth _, are you in here?"_

 _After a year, Thallion still somewhat struggled to speak_ Sindarin _, accustomed to his native tongue, but he could not mistranslate the tone of her voice or the tenderness with which she spoke._

 _Her light washed over him like a gentle breeze, smoothing over the anger and the hurt and the pain. Why was he running from such sweet relief?_

They frantically rode into the night and well into the early morning hours, not once stopping for a breath despite knowing that the forest was twice as deadly in the dark. Neither Calaeron nor Thallion had spoken a word on their journey. They did not wish to voice the fear that constricted their throats at every moment, threatening to overwhelm them any second.

What they wouldn't give for one moment of their mother's warm comfort.

The dread that filled their stomachs the closer they moved to their destination weighed thicker and heavier in their bodies, until they felt as though the very ground beneath them would rise up and swallow them whole if it grew any further.

A cold sweat had broken out over the back of Thallion's neck, sending small shivers down his spine that had both everything and nothing to do with the current situation. His beloved mother and brother were out here right now, in danger, and he wasn't moving fast enough. _Valar_ curse it!

 _Raucous laughter knocked the shock from both Calaeron and Thallion's faces. Not even Thranduil and Lanthir could ignore the silliness of their child's laughter. With the news they had just told their three children, the king and queen expected_ _much_ _the same reaction from Faervere as they had received from the elder princes._

 _Shock. Surprise. Even anger would have been understandable._

 _But not this unexpected laughter._

" _An elfling?"_

 _Faervere laughed, as though only he knew what was funny. As a matter of fact, it really was only him_ _in_ _on the joke this time. For none of the other royals could figure out what was so funny about bringing an elfling into this dark, new Middle Earth._

" _Yes, 'Vere. I fail to see what's so funny."_

 _Lanthir was on the verge of tears and her voice trembled, unsure of what her youngest son's reaction truly meant. Was he laughing at their failure as parents? Was the situation so horrible that all he could do was laugh as a final coping mechanism? It was unheard of for an elf to beget a child without planning so, but somehow—it had happened and they were left reeling and on the verge of panic._

" _No,_ Naneth, _I don't think you do," he giggled, his face reddening and his eyes watering with mirth. "That means I won't be the youngest anymore!"_

 _The absurdity and simplicity of his statement broke the two other brothers from their shock. The goofy look on Faervere's face was enough to cause both of them to erupt in sniggers that soon brought even the Elvenking to laughter and put a delighted twinkle in Thranduil's eyes._

" _You must admit, my dear," Thranduil chuckled, resting a large hand on the small of her back and gently rubbing the tense muscles beneath his hand. "We may need to watch out for Faervere. He may_ _get_ _this elfling_ _into_ _more trouble_ _and mischief_ _than we can ever hope to handle."_

 _Lanthir joined her family in their joy, finally taking the news for what it was: a miracle._

As the red sun began to rise and encase the forest in a fiery glow, so too rose the heartbeats of the two anxious royals and their equally-anxious warriors while they powered on through the trees. No amount of reminiscing could still the panic that clawed its way into their chests. It was now on their heels, chasing them faster than they could outrun it.

Neither Thallion nor Calaeron could explain the feeling that settled into their bodies, as though they were losing more of themselves the further away from the palace they rode. They held close to the trail, barely picking up signs that any elf had traveled through the area. It was only hard-earned experience that told them they were heading in the correct direction at all.

Soon, the putrid smell of orc blood filled their nostrils and they spurred their horses on even faster. Their steeds could scarcely handle more haste, but even they seemed desperate to reach their destination.

Apseniel and Hrávo shared dark looks with each other, fearful of what they were sure they would find further down the pathway. They didn't want to break their leaders' concentration, but they were almost eager to be anywhere else but where they were. For they knew what they would find—and what they would lose—on the forsaken path they were barreling down. The entire patrol was nearly humming with an otherworldly fear.

And there would be no stopping them.

Suddenly, the two princes halted at the opening of a small glade. They were frozen in their spots for an endless instant before both bolted from atop their steeds faster than any expected they were capable. _Valar,_ the sight that awaited them would forever haunt every last elf who beheld it. For there were no words to describe the pure anguish that permeated the air and shattered the last vestiges of peace the trees would ever know.

A tortured cry fell from one of the princes, though not a soul was sure who had uttered it. Perhaps it had come from both of them. Or neither. Maybe it had come from Middle Earth herself. Surely the _Valar_ had cried out in agony, as well. All forces must have felt this loss, for it could not have emanated from just one source.

Calaeron gathered the small, broken body of his mother—his Elvenqueen—into his arms and rocked her slender form back and forth. Tears burned bottomless canyons into his cheeks, searing as they fell onto warm brown hair. Hair that was now tangled with blood that had no right to have ever been spilled.

Her fair, beautiful hand was still entangled in the fingers of her third son, Faervere. The fallen prince's other hand clutched at his faithful sword, protecting his mother into their death and beyond.

Every single one of Queen Lanthir's patrol had been slaughtered with more brutality than their fair bodies had ever deserved.

Thallion had crumbled to the forest ground and crawled on both of his knees, stopping a short distance away and gaping at his two lifeless kin in shock, as though he couldn't process what he was seeing. If he thought the pain of losing his birth parents and baby brother was unbearable, this was a thousand times worse. It was like jagged shards of glass embedding themselves into his very soul. He had let himself fall in love with his second chance at a family, and the _Valar_ had decided to break him once again. Thallion only hoped he could help the remaining members of his family through this unbelievable, traumatizing loss.

A second pained shout filled the air, this time from Apseniel, who had just spotted the long, matted auburn hair of his best friend. The youngest captain in Mirkwood had given her life to her queen, spending her last moments defending her fellows. Caranel had always been fiercely loyal to the very end, so it was only fitting that she gave her last breath to her kingdom.

The _elleth_ looked more graceful in death than she ever had in life. The unfairness and injustice of it all was represented on the empty faces of the fallen elves and those who would forever grieve them.

And so, the forest wept with them.

* * *

 **Just one final chapter to go. Thank you so much for sticking with this story, it has been a very emotional journey. Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! Until next chapter, thank you!**

 **-FiTS**


	7. Chapter 7

**In response to the review from Katia0203:**

 _First, thank you so much for reviewing! I really do love to hear what people think. And I understand, especially since the "Queen is dead" story line is so much of a trope. However, I didn't write it simply because it's a commonly-used-and almost canon in the fanfic world-concept, but because such a devastating event is a huge motivator. Children see their parents as invincible, much like they see themselves that way. So, for Legolas to lose not only his mother, but his brother (who isn't quite his age, but is young enough for it to be shocking and devastating), it shows him that the world as he knows it is no longer safe. He wants to do something about it, because absolutely no one is safe anymore. Everyone is at risk. And speaking from personal experience, you never really recover from losing your mother. I am so glad that my writing still reached you in a way that left you emotional, because that's every writer's dream. Whether it makes you happy or sad, or has you questioning "why" something is the way it is. So, THANK YOU so much for giving me something to say!_

 **This is the final chapter, so I want to thank you all for sticking with me this long! I'm glad to be able to finally mark it complete and reach my goal of 30,000 words!**

 **So, without further ado, here is the seventh and final chapter.**

 **-FiTS**

* * *

A frigid breeze tangled its gnarled fingers into Thallion's black braids, attempting to send shivers down his spine. It tugged and pulled at him. But no matter how hard it tried, nothing could break him out of the stillness that had taken over his body.

His _Naneth,_ his ray of sunshine, could not be gone. Just like the loving, joyful young Faervere could not. It simply could not be so.

The glade was still, but the rest of the patrol moved, forcing themselves to take a step—to take action—for they knew their leaders were unable. Not yet.

Calaeron still sat, desperately clutching his mother as though he could force life back into her with nothing but his touch. The anguish written upon the blond elf's face was unlike anything Thallion had ever seen, and yet, he knew his own face was blank.

He could feel nothing, nothing but shock and disbelief.

Their patrol began gently gathering their fallen comrades, carefully carrying them over to the edge of the glade and laying them side by side. Their eyes were closed with great care, and their arms were crossed over their chests. Those whose weapons could be identified had them returned, so that they may be carried with them into _Mandos._

Apseniel guarded Caranel with a fierce determination, allowing none to help him care for her. None dared to touch the Prince Faervere or Elvenqueen Lanthir.

After an eternity passed, Thallion finally moved. He was still right where he had collapsed, not more than a foot away from Faervere, and yet he thought he had been much further away.

Finally, he shivered as the wind's cruel hands gripped the back of his neck. He was once again completely aware of his surroundings. All sound returned to him, including the occasional pained breath escaping from Calaeron.

" _Muindor,"_ Thallion whispered, finding that he nearly could not speak around the block of ice in his throat.

He received nothing from the crown prince, and so he whispered once more.

" _Muindor,_ please."

The Avar crawled forward, lacking the strength to stand and fearing he would crumple if he tried. He crawled until he was sat directly in front of the older elf, and he tried to ignore the now-empty body of his mother as she was draped across the elder prince's lap.

Still, Calaeron did not see him. He was almost looking directly _through_ him.

Thallion placed a hand against Calaeron's cool neck, leaving it there and hoping the physical contact would bring his brother out of his anguished stupor.

"Please, Cal, I need you with me."

Agonized light blue eyes bore into his gray, tripling the intensity of his pain until he could feel hot tears stinging at his own. He could not break down now, he could not allow himself to fall apart when so many needed him.

"We must bring them home, _Muindor._ " He squeezed gently. "We must lay them to rest."

At last, Calaeron nodded, relinquishing his hold on their mother and allowing Thallion to take her into his shaking arms.

Her body was too cold, the warmth and love having left it too soon. Thallion held her tight, rolling his body forward and placing all the strength he could muster into his legs—begging them to bear this precious weight for him.

He was able to carry her to the edge and placed her in a patch of wildflowers that resembled her eyes so closely that he had to hold back a sob.

Her dark blue eyes had already been closed, to his relief, and he arranged her arms as reverently as he could. Thallion then smoothed down her hair, forcing it to lay flat and plucking a bit of leaf out of the end of her braid.

When he had the strength to stand once more, his body wavered.

He was at last able to stand straight again while he watched Calaeron gather their younger brother and do the same.

Faervere was placed beside his mother, his sword at his side and his once-laughing eyes finally closed.

In a last moment of thought, Thallion knelt and took one of Faervere's cold hands, placing it palm-up beside him. Calaeron, sensing his brother's intention, did the same with their mother, turning it downward to match the young elf's.

They wove together the hands of the queen and her son, allowing them to rejoin in the _Halls._ They would enter side-by-side, never to part.

"May the _Valar_ take them and hold them in eternal light," Thallion whispered.

* * *

The journey back to the palace lacked the urgency of their earlier flight.

It was a grim task, preparing the bodies of the fallen so that their families may look upon them without horror. They were cleaned and cared for by those who loved them, given back the dignity that had been stolen from them in their final battle.

Carriers were fashioned out of the limbs of fallen trees, as well as what was freely given by the trees who could still communicate to their woodland friends. They would bear them back to Mirkwood where they could properly be laid to rest.

Numbness returned to Thallion and no matter how much he wished for it, no further fond memories could be brought forth to ease him.

Even his steed seemed to drag her legs, not quite enthusiastic about traveling back to the kingdom.

' _Waterfall gone…'_

The tree who whispered the broken phrase shuddered, losing a few browned leaves as it shook. It brought Thallion out of his numbness for just a moment, spurring him into action.

"Please, _mellon._ I know your sorrow," he told the tree. In fact, he addressed them all. "But do not pass this grief forward to the palace. We must be the ones to bear it."

Mirkwood had gripped the royal family and tore from it the very foundation that made it whole. He did not want his family to be broken by the whispers of wounded trees. It would not do for word to travel ahead of the solemn party.

After all, it was their responsibility to bring such news. Their duty. And they would carry out the task themselves.

* * *

At first, the Elvenking said nothing, already sensing in his heart what he could read on his eldest sons' faces. He knew from the moment Legolas had given him Thallion's urgent message that it would be too late. He would lose his beloved _Waterfall_ forever.

He nodded at his sons solemnly before leaving them and locking himself away in his study to mourn alone. He would join them later, when he could give them someone strong enough to lean on.

But it was Legolas who did not understand.

Thallion had found him in his gardens and knelt before the boy, taking both shoulders into his hands and looking into his wonderful young face, hating that he would soon shatter everything the elfling had ever known. He would take away the security that Legolas had cherished.

He would take it all.

The child had screamed, beating his tiny fists into Thallion's chest as angry tears coursed down his cheeks. No. It could not be. He screamed and shook and let out so much hurt, taking all of it out on his older brother's already battered form.

Thallion took the abuse, feeling the numbness spreading from the blows to his chest and bleeding into the rest of his body. Legolas could never hit hard enough to cause the same pain that nestled into the core of his very being. It would be best for the elfling to let it all out on someone who could handle it.

The child eventually collapsed into a mass of tears and hiccups, clutching Thallion's tunic and soaking it in his large, sad tears. The older elf found he could not cry, but simply held his brother tightly.

Once he had been able to convince Legolas to rest, he made his way to the home of Caranel's father, Telenir. As her commander, he wished to tell the older elf of his only child's demise. But as her friend, he wished he could have done more for her father. Thallion recalled that his youngest captain had lost her mother when she was an infant.

Telenir would be alone in this world.

The elf did not collapse at Thallion's world-shattering news. Like his daughter, he held strong in the face of loss. Caranel had been so strong for one so fragile and Thallion knew he would never forget her courage.

"Thank you, _hir nin,_ " Telenir gripped his forearms, squeezing them once before calmly retreating into his home to mourn. The elf had _thanked_ Thallion. For what? He had not protected Telenir's daughter as he should have.

Later, when he was alone in his own chambers, Thallion finally allowed the numbness to subside. It was replaced by a rage so hot, so burning, that it consumed him entirely.

With an almost primal roar, Thallion grabbed the nearest object—a vase—and threw it across the room as furiously as he could. When it shattered into a million tiny pieces, his anger only intensified.

He fisted his hands into the cushions of a chair that rested in front of his fireplace, heaving the entire piece of furniture to the other side of the chamber where it cracked and fell in broken chunks.

Thallion screamed again and upended his bed frame, and knocked over an armoire, and broke apart a table. The more he destroyed, the more his anger grew until he could take it no longer.

He found himself putting his right fist through a large mirror, his hand slamming into the rock behind it as it sunk through the glass and the frame. At last, the physical pain overpowered his anguish and he fell into the scattered shards, his chest heaving and his sweaty hair falling into his eyes. It was now tangled and several of his braids had come loose.

He stared at the line of blood running down the side of his abused hand, the glass that was now embedded in it caught the light and reflected a macabre image.

He had broken more than the skin. Lanyarion would _definitely_ call him a fool for this. But as he descended into sobs, he found that he did not care.

* * *

Scarlet blood dripped from delicate fingers, staining the taut bowstring with its crimson shade. Legolas spared only a moment to watch the blood seep from a ragged split in his flesh and drop to the leaves below. It did little to stop him. His upper back and shoulders were past the burning stage, now sending rippling waves of pain through his slender figure, though he could hardly feel it. He had pushed himself far past his body's endurance, but the pain was still not enough of a distraction against the agony in his heart.

Everything had built up within him, threatening to shatter him from the inside out. How could one person possibly handle so much? His thoughts and emotions had been swarming so violently within him that he could hardly contain them. Even now, his attention was consumed only by the grief-stricken hollow in his chest where his mother and brother should be.

After speaking with Thallion, the older elf had led him to his chambers and bade him to rest. At first, Legolas could only lay there while his mind flew in a thousand different directions. After time, his breathing began to intensify and his thoughts darkened until he felt like he would suffocate if he didn't let everything out.

He'd come to the training grounds in search of a release, and instead found only more anguish. He knew no one would stop him now, but everything reminded him of them and there was no escape. The palace was suffocating him with their presence, but the training grounds were hardly better. It had been only hours since that fateful moment when the royal family was shattered, but Legolas had already suffered an eternity's worth of grief.

Legolas had no clue how long he'd been drawing his bowstring. He stopped counting the number of arrows he'd released into the overburdened target at the end of the field long ago. He came to the conclusion that it no longer really mattered, anyway. After all, no amount of arrows could ever reach far enough to stop the pain.

He didn't _want_ to feel anymore. Why couldn't it just stop?

He didn't feel the wet warmth of tears coursing their way down his reddened face, or the sweat that rolled down his temples and gathered in his long, pale blond hair. He had been at it for hours, yet he continued to drive himself deeper into the ground, feeling the prickles of anger at the edges of his pain. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting gold shadows across his pale face, but he could no longer feel any warmth or comfort from the light.

How could this happen? How could the _Valar_ take so much from them? Where was the justification in taking two people from a family that desperately needed them?

It was all so unjust!

His breaths were coming in short gasps, yet he wasn't aware of it—or that he was letting out small, keening whimpers with each shudder. Why wouldn't it stop? He just wanted to make it stop!

He drew another arrow from his quiver—he lost count of how many times he had refilled it—and growled in frustration as his hands refused to steady. Curse them, too.

The gaping, hollow void in his chest stole all attention from everything else. It sucked and dragged at his strength, sapping all semblance of joy from his soul. There was no bow, no smooth wood beneath his fingers and pleasant burning in his muscles, no satisfaction to the soft _thunk_ of his arrows meeting their mark. There was nothing and no one.

This was how Thallion found him, so immersed in his archery that he didn't acknowledge his older brother's presence. Could the child even see him past the river of tears in his dark blue eyes? Thallion's breath left him in a shocked _whoosh_ at the sight of the absolute anguish on Legolas' face. Never had he seen pain so deep anywhere else than in his own face reflected in the ruined mirror earlier that day. Nothing had been the same since the dreadful moment his entire world stopped spinning and he found himself scrambling to grab a hold of something for fear he would lose all control and be consumed.

He approached slowly, noting the eerie silence around them. The training grounds were empty, the few elves who had been training when Legolas entered had politely left their prince to his privacy, though one had gathered the courage to find Thallion and alert him of Legolas' destructive behavior.

The only sound that filled the air was the desperate sobbing of a grief-stricken young elf. Each cry chipped away deeper at Thallion's own heart, and he wanted so desperately to join the elfling in his sobbing. He again wanted nothing more than to shout and scream and throw things and _destroy_. But Legolas needed him more than he needed the satisfaction of watching something other than himself collapse.

The birds had ceased their song, knowing nothing in their cheerful repertoire to match the solemnity of the kingdom. The trees stopped their daily muddled chatter and drew deep into themselves, mourning in their own way. They would never fully recover from the pure agony that had settled over the forest. Something that terrible left a dreadful scar that wouldn't heal.

Nothing would ever be the same again. Greenwood the Great had made its final excruciating plunge into Mirkwood, and there was no turning back. Just like there was no turning back for Legolas. Whatever childhood remained had been stolen away by a group of ruthless orcs. The cares and worries that had plagued him just days ago had fled him, now seeming so insignificant in comparison.

The child would forever dedicate himself to protecting those less fortunate than him. Like his pure, beautiful mother whose love would have healed the entire forest if the _Valar_ had allowed it. Or his fun-loving brother, who had only ever wanted to spread happiness and who's joyful laughter could light up even the darkest of rooms. Or the fiery-haired _elleth_ who was fiercely loyal and never afraid of speaking her mind, no matter what anyone else said. Or the nine other elves whose stories had ended before their next chapter could ever be written.

He would eliminate all threats and drive the shadow as far back as it could possibly go. He would spend the rest of his life learning how to protect the free peoples of Middle Earth and how to stop all darkness that threatened them.

Standing just in front of his brother, Thallion could see the fine lines of pain etched deeply into Legolas' face. Though he may not be acknowledging his hurts, they were there for all others to see.

"Legolas, _Penneth,"_ he pleaded, hoping to distract him from his damaging actions. Thallion understood that Legolas wasn't paying attention to the serious damage he was doing to his hands, or how close he was to passing out from hyperventilating. But he couldn't bear to watch his youngest brother self-destruct in an attempt to escape.

He couldn't allow the child to fall apart so completely, as he had done. He needed to hold him together, for that would help keep _himself_ together, too.

He stood in Legolas' view, close enough that he could have reached out and yanked the bow from his hands if he wanted to. It didn't matter. He could have been right in the elfling's face and Legolas wouldn't have noticed. It was like talking to a wall. Not a single sound reached the sharp ears of the elf in front of him.

Legolas was trembling violently before his older brother, hardly able to fully draw back his bow for the next arrow. The bolt quivered in his grasp, the blood on his fingers making it almost too slick to keep the projectile from falling out of his grip. The fingers of his right hand, acting as a guide for the arrow, were twitching so often that if he were even able to release it, the arrow was more likely to careen out of sight than to reach the target.

The target across from the younger elf was so filled with arrows that not a single bare space was left. It stood like a morbid pincushion, taunting Legolas as if to say, ' _I can bear no more, and neither can you._ '

"Please, Legolas."

Thallion reached an equally-trembling, bandaged hand toward the swaying youth, setting it on a quivering shoulder and hoping he could reach the anguished young elf inside. Legolas felt like he could come apart at the warm touch, and he froze for the briefest moment. Finally, tortured blue eyes lifted, swimming with tears and filled with shadow in a way only grief can cause.

"Thall," a weakened whisper broke from Legolas, as if tearing itself away from his very being. The moment their eyes met, Legolas collapsed into a heap in Thallion's arms, taking them both to the ground once the boy realized he couldn't even feel his legs. The bow and arrow fell uselessly as Thallion used all his remaining strength to catch him. Harsh, wracking sobs ripped through Legolas and he buried himself in his brother's chest. This wasn't the anger and disbelief from earlier, but a pure expression of agony and loss.

Thallion held Legolas tighter than he'd held anything in his life, clinging to his brother just as much as Legolas was clinging to him. Large hands smoothed down sweat-soaked hair and for the first time in many years, Thallion began rocking Legolas. He could not tell if it was for Legolas' benefit, or for his own.

"This is not the way," Thallion muttered into his younger brother's hair, continuing to rock gently back and forth, his tears falling into the elfling's blond locks. "This is not the way we deal with our grief, _tithen las._ "

Thallion said nothing more, simply rocking them in time with the beating of his own heart. There was nothing else to say. And if Legolas had the strength to ask his brother what way he _should_ be dealing with his grief, Thallion would have naught to answer.

For even he did not know.

This was more than the guiding flame Thallion envisioned. This was a raging inferno. And all of Middle Earth would burn with it.


End file.
